4 degrees

I woke up late this morning, shivering in the 4 degree weather and realized that not only was I running late, but I had forgotten to charge my phone. When I checked it half an hour later, the boy had called several times. He now works nights at the hospital and came out to find that 4 degrees was too cold for his pretty, but old, car. Unshowered, uncaffeinated and with an unwalked dog, I battled across the morning school traffic to retrieve him, drove home (at the speed limit), flung myself in the shower, raced (at the speed limit) to the radio station, made my appearance on Honey's show, taped a promo for kbac and then raced (at the speed limit) downtown fo an eight hour business planning/budget retreat.
If you've never sat ina conference room fo eight hours with your fellow managers and bosses and discussed all the hard things you're going to commit to doing for the next year and then argued over what the money will be spent on, you are really missing out. For example, you don't know what it feels like to be completely ennervated, mildly depressed and 100 percent braindead. There is, sadly, some horrible part of my brain that actually enjoys the experience, the part that likes planning and decision making and goal setting. The part that is, therefore, responsible for me having a full-time job as opposed to being a waitress and living on the beach, which, frankly, doesn't sound too bad at the moment.
I came home, retrieved the boy, whom I had deposited, carless, at my house, took him to his car, which apparently needs a new battery, then to his house, then home, making a quick stop at the mailbox to retrieve a huge pile of bills. My current mode of calming activity is to knit, but I have managed to turn that into a compulsive activity as well. Case in point: I have found myself unable to knit a sock, despite watching videos, taking instruction and practicing again and again. At the moment, to my immediate left, lays my latest attempt, which is just perfect if you happen to have a one-legged child with a clubfoot. If so, please let me know, because I can hook you up. It is times like this that I wish I was a drinker, because a nice stiff cocktail seems in order. Alas, I'm not and there is no alcohol in the house except for some miniature bottles of flavored brandies that were a Xmas gift two years ago from one of the Reporter's owners, which I have yet to drink.
Tomorrow I have scheduled a physical, for the first time in ages, because I figure if I am going to feel old, which I do, I might as well act like a mature adult and make sure there is nothing wrong with me. Evidence of ageing: I lost a tooth, I want to move somewhere warm, and I get more phone calls before 9 am than after 9 pm.
OK, that's enough ranting. I am going to go beat myself over the head with an expensive shoe or something fun and see if I can possibly pass out and wake up in a slightly more optimistic frame of mind.