When I’m sleep-deprived I do the dumbest stuff. In that mode, I can’t even walk to the kitchen to make coffee without hurting myself, e.g. stubbing my toe on the sharp edge of the scale I use to weigh myself. This morning, I got to prove that, yet again.
I was up until after 4 a.m., working. I manage several businesses, and today being the 15th, it’s tax deadline day for two of them, my asset management business and my publicity management business. And so, I’ve been doing the financial year-end accounting work, preparing the tax paperwork and filing the taxes. These are weird entities, neither LLCs nor corporations, but limited partnerships, so the paperwork is extra weird. Anyway, I got it all done but it wasn’t easy. Days’ worth of hard work, and so I’ve been sleep-deprived for days on end.
I’m also behind on billable hours for my software engineering company and so last night until close to 11 p.m. I worked on software. Then, my automotive engineering company needed attention. I’d rented a pickup truck for a week, and today at 9:30 a.m. I needed to hand in the vehicle. So last night was my last opportunity to use the thing. So at 11 p.m. last night, that part of my work began, moving furniture and auto parts from one location to another. By 4 a.m. I was done, in more ways than one.
When my alarm went off at 9 a.m. I felt very sleep-deprived and sorry for myself, although of course I’m totally in control and the entire status quo is simply the result of my not-so-smart decisions.
After the truck episode, the car company and software company needed more love and attention and by mid-day I was ready to fall over and sleep. So, I did, for three hours. Then, I got up and worked on software issues again — not realizing that I was blowing off in the process a) an eyelash extension appointment, which makes it two in a row, and b) a hair appointment, which also makes it two in a row. So, by now I need to pay missed-appointment penalties or I won’t be able to look the ladies in the eye any more, so that’s money down the drain. I’d somehow remembered the appointments as being tomorrow not today, oops.
I won’t be able to get another appointment for at least 2 weeks, and the problem is that by now my eyelashes and hair look like I might have been hot long ago but now I look like the prisoner-of-war version of a pretty girl.
The whole point behind all my planning and timing had been to look good at an important business meeting Thursday night. So now, instead of looking resplendent, I’ll show up with two-tone hair and scraggly lashes. I was feeling sorry for myself about this too, although, of course, this is also simply the result of my not-so-smart decisions.
I have a wonderful friend who could see the silver lining on any cloud even if the cloud were mushroom-shaped, and while I was bemoaning my situation she pointed out that:
a) At least I HAVE hair long enough to need styling and coloring
b) Ten years ago, before I was “out” as a t-girl, the idea of having a lash extension appointment would have seemed ludicrous
She’s right, of course. Me whining about all this is like me whining about the Lamborghini needing an oil change again. In the grand scheme of things, these are good problems to be able to have.