At least I’m not hungry

The day careers that Ava and I have are very brain intensive. There are a million things to do on each file and every thread has to be held on to, remembered, and dealt with. All of that has to happen while negotiating landmines and making a bunch of assholes happy. Often this means after nine hours, by the time we get home, we don’t have much brain left. Especially if it has been a really intense week.

Now imagine doing that on consistently 5 1/2 hours of sleep. Some day’s I’m all in.

Today, I called My Honey on the way home from work. “I’m stopping at the grocery store to pick up a prescription. Do we need anything else?”

“Something for dinner,” he said.

“Like what?”

“Whatever.” He sounded distracted. “What sounds good to you?”

Oh my God, I thought. What sounds good? Sleep sounds good. “I have no idea. None. Don’t make me think.” There was a long pause where my husband was obviously waiting for me to have an aneurism. I pulled into the parking lot and had an epiphany. “How about a pizza?”

“That sounds good. Mix it up, though. Get something different.” He said this blithely, like he wasn’t at all concerned about my neurological function.

I waited for the bleeding to start in my brain. “Different? Like what? Can we all just sit in different chairs at the table? Is that different enough?”

Now he sounded annoyed and I wanted to cry. “No, I was thinking of toppings. How about pineapple?”

I thought that sounded reprehensible, but I was incapable of putting together a complete sentence as to why.  We ate a Hawaiian pizza and a Combo. I stayed up until 1:30.

I have no idea what’s wrong with me.