Monday, January 19, 2009

ThePeach reflects on her career; life

FauxHawk is here. He's visiting for the week, which is amazing. We haven't spent this much time together in CapitalCity since...ever.

He immediately began cleaning up my disastrous life when he got here. He washed the two weeks of dishes that I have allowed to fester. He got the landlord to plunger my sink so that it would drain properly. Apparently you can't just poke food bits down the drain without consequence. I thought a hole was a hole was a hole, but I am incorrect. He scraped the dried food off my counters. He assembled the toaster oven that has been sitting in a box on my floor for 4 months. He took me to the drug store so I could buy tylenol.

I'm hoping he'll tackle my recycling heap while I'm in class today, but I don't want to push it.

My life is so unusually clean that I don't even recognize it. I'm stumbling around like a confused drunk. But that might be because I'm a drunk.

The fact that I don't have time to take care of basic life skills on my own makes me question my career choice. Am I really going to enter a life where I let my kitchen sink clog with rice, overflow, and fester for 8 days because I have to choose between plungering it or getting my stories written? Getting my radio clips edited?

Am I really entering a life where I stalk the employees on Main Street in order to find a source, follow her home on a Friday night at 9 in order to get an interview, and flash freeze my fingers to my microphone in the negative 30 degree weather? They still tingle. FauxHawk says that's the frostbite.

Am I really ok with the fact that I left FauxHawk in my cozy apartment last night and spent from 9 to 11:30 pm in the radio room on campus, editing a 12 second clip? And I'm not even done yet?

And, finally, am I really ok with the fact that I have been awake for 45 minutes already, and FauxHawk is in my warm bed and will probably remain there until 2pm? And, since I have to edit more 12 second clips after class, I'll be on campus until 6:30 pm? And I'll get home just in time to scarf some dinner with FauxHawk, poke some rice down the drain, and then chain myself to the laptop until 2am so I can write my script? WHEN am I supposed to have the sex, I ask you?? WHEN?!

The answer is: Yes, I think somehow I am ok with this life choice.

What I'm not ok with is what this says about my mental state. Do they give personal support workers to crazy whores? Or do I have to be developmentally delayed in order to acquire one? I probably count as developmentally delayed at this point. I'll just show the government official my festering sink and stack of old newspapers, and she'll assume I'm handicapped.

Maybe I'll have the sex in the 5 minute window of consciousness between when I finish my script and when I pass out at 2am. But no foreplay.

What a life.

ThePeach

3 comments:

Amy said...

Someday we'll have personal assistants instead of boyfriends. I promise.

The Peach said...

I'm clinging to that promise with desperate hope.

thepilot said...

The greatest part about pursuing your life's dreams are the sacrifices you get to make in your prime years. On some days, I even manage to convince myself that I LIKE where I am. Don't worry muffin, you'll get there too!