"...as the baby takes his first sip off my teat, I will be taking a slurp from the Reisling..."
Autopilot, August 22, 2006
Last Friday, I did the
Bob and Tom show. They are a syndicated radio show that has six million listeners, a larger audience than the Tonight Show. I got 18,000 hits on my website in a 24 hour period. No television show has ever brought in that kind of traffic. Pretty unreal.
I'm exhausted from road work. Four straight weeks that began and ended with either ten hour drives or 7 AM flights. I want to hide under a comforter and watch Deadwood. I'm in submission packet hell, too. Last week, I had three days to do five days of work, all while flying, doing radio, doing shows and pretending that being seven and a half months pregnant isn't affecting me in any way. I'm fine, I'm the Flash, I can do anything. Bullets bounce off me.
I want wine.
When my water breaks, I'm reaching for that beautiful blue bottle in the refridgerator. It's going to the hospital with me, and as the baby takes his first sip off my teat, I will be taking a slurp from the Reisling that's been untouched since the EPT test came back "positive, your life is positively over."
I have two more packets to do in the next week. Number 1 is more done that Number 2, and I am not optimistic about either. Who's going to hire someone that has to go on maternity leave six weeks after the job starts? I can promise to crawl to work the moment my body lets me, the reality is that childbirth requires a recovery time. You can't just squat and keep moving. But jobs start late or they're willing to wait or someone quits in December when you're back on your feet...
I want to stop everything and go on welfare, but I'm not broke enough to be poor. So if you'll excuse me, I've got Lindsay Lohan jokes to write.
