Working in Jammies...

At the risk of alienating every friend I have who pulls on a suit and slips out the door by 7am, I have to make note of how utterly marvelous it is to work in one's jammies.  You're getting work done, but it's pure hedonistic pleasure at the same time.

One thing this cat book has shown me is that I actually get more done while working in my p.j.'s vs. being showered and dressed.  My new morning routine has been to get up at 5, play with the cats and eat breakfast, then sit down at the computer at six.  I'll work until about 9, then exercise, then work a little more.  Many days I'm not showered and dressed until close to noon.  (Hear that sound?  That's the sound of everyone reading this blog throwing their coffee cup at the computer.  Hey you people...that's office property!  Stop destroying it!)

Here's my new plan of action.  My detailed outline is due Thursday, so I'm spending today and the rest of the weekend researching like a mad woman.  I'm hoping to have enough (or over-optimistic me, more than enough) to start writing the outline on Monday.  Finalize Tuesday and submit Wednesday. That's the plan, anyway.  I'm still alternating between "I'm making a big deal over nothing.  I can get this done, no problem" to frantic panic eating where (no joke) I stuff down an apple, cereal, a few Doritos, a handful of walnuts and raisins, cottage cheese, dark chocolate, a piece of bread with honey, and then repeat the cycle all in about a 30 minute time period. 

Blair is taking the fun away from my martyr status.  He got home last night from work about 10 and was up by 4 today.  I'm thinking my "I'm working so hard" moans may appear petty.  Damn him.  =)

Off to work!  I think today I'll write about cats...

Great Quote

Found this in "The 8th Habit" by Stephen R. Covey:

"Remember, any time your emotional life is a function of someone else's weaknesses, you disempower yourself and empower those weaknesses to continue to mess your life up. Yesterday holds tomorrow hostage."

Spock couldn't have said it better.

Proofreading My Book

My layout designer Robert Howard e-mailed me the pdf file of my "to-be-proofread" book today.  BIG excitment seeing it so close to print.  I printed out all 128 pages of it and it's now sitting on the corner of my desk, waiting to be proofed.  I've already found a big one.  The title page proclaims in big, bold letters: LESSONS IN STOCKING.  Hmmm....how much would that hurt to go to press, overlooking that little typo?

Needless to say, my next week will be spent in non-stop perusal of the book.  As will Blair's (whether he's aware of it or not--but he probably is).  He's as excited about the book as I am, which is gratifying to see.  He's never blinked an eye at the time or money output involved in this project. 

It's 10pm, my bedtime, and I know I'm too tired to start looking at the book, but the eager author in me is screaming with delirious joy, "Now! Now!  Stay up until 4am if you have to but proofread it NOW."

That screaming voice gets me in a lot of trouble.

I'm peeking at the pages as I type this.  Uh-oh, the preface looks to be in miniscule type.  I hope that can be fixed without altering the page count.  We're exactly where we need to be without wasting paper.

Okay, I'm at least going to go wash my face and perhaps give it a try at going to sleep.  I'll be up early for yoga (6am class on MWF - love it!!) and the book (yea, the book!  My book!) will still be here tomorrow.

Rude People

You might think this is going to be a riff on other people (which yes, we'll get there) but it's also about me. I was terribly, horribly rude to someone yesterday and the unsettling part is that the more I replay over in my mind what happened, the more convinced I am that I was in the right and had every reason to be uncivil.

Here's what happened. I had to take Olivia, my tabby, in for a checkup. Last week she was having some bleeding around her teeth and gums and the vet had us give her medicine for a week in the hopes that would take care of the infection and we wouldn't have to pull a tooth. So she was there just for a simple check-up.

We walk in to my normally serene vets office and there's chaos. Dogs in the back are howling, practically screaming. Two dogs in the front office are trying their hardest to break away from their leashes and greet everyone. When they can't, they pee on the floor instead. The phone is ringing, rooms are full, there's nowhere to sit, and my poor kitty is just huddling in her carrier, trying to disappear.

But fine, things happen. Dogs pee, I can live with that. I eventually find a little corner to sit down in and try to shield Olivia from the sight of the dogs across the room.

Then SHE arrives. An older woman with one of those trembling, high-pitched yappy dogs that barks at everything.

Before I continue I want to be clear that I don't blame the dog for anything. If owners don't take the time for training, the dogs can't be blamed. So I have no problem with the yappy dog, just with the way his owner handled things.

So we're sitting in this tiny cramped space and the second this dog spots another animal (and hello, it's a vets office so animals are coming in and out constantly) it goes insane. Supersonic high-pitched constant yapping for minutes on end. The receptionist was plugging her ears, trying to hear whoever was on the phone. I had my fingers in my ears. My poor cat was trembling.

And this idiot woman sat there and every few seconds said something brilliant like, "Now Charlie, hush." Two more minutes of ear-breaking yapping. "Hush now."

I finally turned to her and in the snidest tone possible with a dose of superiority thrown in yelled (so as to be heard over the dog), "Could you take your dog out of here?" She just gave me one of those blank stares like she couldn't imagine what I might be referring to and so I glared at her and said, "He's freaking my cat out."

And so she took the dog outside.

I STILL think I'm right. What sort of moron sits there and lets people suffer? And I'm not talking about a couple of barks. This was ear-shattering and nonstop. It just floors me that she had to be asked to do something about it. Maybe she's gone deaf with living with this animal. Who knows?

Really, I'm resentful that she put me in a position to be the bad guy. And yes I did have the option to just sit there and be polite and take it, but I'm like a mama bear when it comes to my cats. Do anything to try and harm them and I will take you down.

We got back from the vet's around 3:30 and we didn't see Olivia until this morning. She hid all night. Usually she'll hide for about 2 hours after a vets appointment and then decide the coast is clear. Blair thinks I'm turning into my mother, worrying so much about the cat's mental health, but here's another area I refuse to concede. The fact that she disappeared for over 12 hours indicates that she WAS freaked out by the whole day.

Mama bear. That's me.

If anyone has any opinions on whether you think I handled this situation properly, was rude for no cause, or had other options, I'd love to hear your feedback.