I'm two days into a nine-day bout of being too busy for my own good. Every night for the next seven days I've got work- and friend-related activities planned: it's the week of the big ol' three-day work meeting we've been getting ready for, and I've got plans for at least one of those days, if not two. I've also got interspersed throughout the week dinner or drinks plans with friends, culminating with a surprise visit from my one of my Portland friends, Elk, who will happen to be in town on this coming Sunday.
It's going to be a rather whirlwind week, all part of a whirlwind month — I'm booked every weekend day until June starts, from here on out. I don't know how I do this, and why everything can't spread itself out more evenly throughout the year. Not that I'm complaining too much ... being this social keeps me from being curled up in my apartment wallowing in self-pity. Or something.
This weekend was full of family activity for Mother's Day: Saturday with the paternal side, Sunday with the maternal side. I went down and spent last night Chez Parents, mostly because my mom likes having a house full of her children. I also got to play with my nephew a bit, and applaud his latest trick: rolling around on the floor. I'm so proud of him.
(Oh, my lord: I have indeed become one of those aunts, haven't I?)
Tonight, I got my first crank call in a few years: some guy claiming to have found my number at a strip joint. (Ha, ha. So funny.) What didn't bother me so much was his knowing my name, but more when he started reciting a familiar address — I hung up on him mid-call. I should have been smart and mocked him for being so "clever" in being able to use a phone book, but of course we never think of these things at the time. It did remind me to check the phone book to verify that the same address he mentioned is actually what's in there. And it's also making me jump at the slightest odd household sound. Hooray, paranoia, welcome back.
Time to sharpen my Krav Maga skills.