. . . being a grownup.

I finally understand the tragedy of Sunday night. I'm nearly 30 years old, and I've never had a "grownup" job. I've always worked irregular hours, so weekends don't have the same meaning to me that they do to other people. It took working in a restaurant in New York City for me to have a regular schedule. Weird, right?

Truthfully, the schedule isn't really regular. There's actually nothing really regular about this restaurant. More on that at a future date. Up until this week, I have had to be at work at 6:30am for the breakfast shift (this week I get to to in at 7:15, woo!). At first I was just working the breakfast shift which, naturally, ends at around noon. Now, I'm working breakfast and lunch which goes from 7:15am to 4:30 or 5:30. So long crazy busy days running in circles. But again, this is my most "regular" schedule.

In any case, it's Sunday night, and I don't think I could be any grumpier. I had a lovely weekend. I had a casual play reading yesterday in my living room which led to a great discussion and some significant changes to the script. I finished and submitted my application to the Playwright's certificate program at Juilliard. Today I saw a matinee of Once on Broadway. I ate well. I slept a lot.  I rested. My feet are just beginning to stop aching. What I really want to do is stay up late watching movies and baking Christmas cookies. But no. I have to be thinking seriously about getting into bed soon. I need to make sure my bag is ready so that I can roll out of bed and get on the train by 6:25. I need to shower and dry my hair so I don't scare the clientele at the restaurant tomorrow. I should look over my flash cards since I'm certain I've forgotten half of the menu since the test I took two weeks ago. Wait, Berkshire Pork Belly is on the menu?? And this week is going to be crazy, since Christmas is coming so soon.

I guess I'm also a little home sick as well, especially since I won't be home for Christmas this year for the first time ever. I miss my sister's house. Her pancakes and her FIVE animals. Doing laundry in the basement-- even if I'm a little afraid of it. What? The basement is scary! Haven't you ever seen Home Alone?? I miss my car. I miss my family. I miss Aixois and all the wonderful people who work there and drink coffee there that I got so used to. Couldn't begin to list them, because there are so many. I miss going to work at 10:30am (or 10:37-- let's be honest). I miss the after work glass of wine. I miss cruising down 71 listening to whatever music I want. I miss knowing exactly where I am and how to get where I'm going. I miss my Kansas City.

So I'm going to make mint tea, listen to Damien Rice radio on Pandora (as I'm wont to do when I'm feeling sorry for myself) and try to be thankful for all the many good things I do have. And I'm going to remember to bring my ipod with me tomorrow for the train. And maybe I'll promise myself a latte and some play drafting at the little bookstore on Crosby after work...