If I had time in a bottle...or a Starbucks

Daily Stats:
Words: yes
Caffeine: morning cup so far
Evil Calories: Cherry pie, raspberry scones and chocolate chip cookies. Yes, sometimes all at the same time.

Okay, I have a plan. I know this makes you happy because surly you've been sitting by your computer going, "when is that crackpot going to come up with a plan?". Well, your wait is over. Because as I was fidgeting with my hair this morning trying to give the illusion that I sort of care about my appearance, I suddenly realized that I now have something that is more valuable than a shopping spree at a Macy's 1 Day Sale (okay, nothing is really more valuable than that, but just go with me, kay?) No, no, it's not wisdom or love or anything cheesy like that. It's time. Yes, time. See, darling child has started preschool, and though it's been a bumpy ride trying to convince him that a) school is fun and b) mommy would never, ever leave him, except for this small block of time where I do actually leave him (paging Dr. Freud), it dawned on me this morning that once I get over the trauma of dropping him off, I have TWO AND A HALF HOURS TO MYSELF. TWO AND A HALF HOURS. Funny how that can perk a distraught mommy right up! So, my plan is to head to the nearest library/Starbucks after dropping darling child off at school and reacquainting myself with that little old thing called MY BOOK. Hello, it's been almost a year. I'm almost fully engulfed in lameness for not finishing it already. And, I figure if I'm at the nearest library/Starbucks, I'll be close enough to darling child's school that if he consumes massive amounts of paste or gets a globe lodged in his eye, I can easily come to the rescue. So, there it is. Rock on with the plan!!!!

What? Oh, you were thinking my plan involved a solution for our real problems, ie. no job and house falling apart? Geez, gimme a break, I'm not Wonder Woman, people. I mean, yes, yes, I'm fully aware that if things don't change within the next few months and darling husband can't find a job, I'll have to dig out my "non-fat pant" clothing and go back to work myself. But the thought of it kinda makes me want to throw up in my mouth. So I'm not thinking about it until it actually has to happen. Until then, I'm holding on the delusion that I'm the next JK Rowling. What? It could happen.