I'm a major stresspuppy lately, what with the day job and the editing job and the writing job (I'm calling it two and a half jobs) and the being a mom and everything. Alex is still overflowing his night-time pullup a few times a week, which means he wakes me up to change his sheets, so my sleep levels aren't the best, which only adds to the problem.
You know what I do when I'm stressy?
I had a doctor's appointment this morning, and even though I know how much I weigh, it was a little bit of a smack to realize just how much I've gained in only the last year.
Am I going to pull myself together and stop stress-eating? Am I going to regain my willpower and start going back to the gym three times a week?
...Let's face it: probably not. Though I've ordered a compact elliptical machine to put in my office, so maybe I can at least make myself do a mini-workout from time to time.
Am I going to start going to bed early to make up for the unavoidable early mornings? No way; that's my "me" time!
Am I going to give up the editing and writing? Absolutely not; that's my dream job. It's not their fault that they don't pay worth a damn.
Am I going to get a new day job? I think about it on a daily (sometimes hourly) basis, but this isn't a good economy for job-hunting. I'm keeping my eyes open, but I don't see it happening soon.
So what, then?
Damned if I know.