PMD's the word, baby

The Drives

--- Start Evil Cycle that resembles "GroundHog Day" ---

It's Saturday. That's my conclusion so far since the recent opening of my eyes to a sun-drenched bedroom, and the resulting panic that I'm just so late for work, and my struggling cotton-ball stuffed brain is trying to remember if I was booked for any early morning meetings today because my gawd I've surely missed them...

Then it registers - the sounds of a playstation meander around the corner and into the bedroom, and the street sounds are almost non-existent, and the alarm clock button is in the "off" position. After a quick affirmation from Jason, I relax back into the pillow. Saturday. 10 am. Life is sweet.

"Oh - Bert called. He needs you to call him back. Like, now" is what Jason calls to me as I'm stumbling through the hallway for either caffeine or bathroom, whichever is the more dire need of the morning. After finishing, and always before I've had more than a sip of coffee, I dial Bert's home number. He gleefully and in falsetta happiness proposes "up for a drive?". It is infuriating being caught in a trap repeatedly. He does this when he knows I am weakest. I always fall for it. I almost always say "yes" because it is, I repeat, 10am on Saturday, and I am still without intelligent thought or backbone, and will not regain either for at least a couple of hours after crawling out of the warmness of our huge purple bed. He knows this. This is why he is a lawyer - he's sneaky. Bert gives me exactly one hour to shower, eat, pour coffee down my gullet, and prepare for the day. I now remember to take my camera when he arrives at the door to pick me up, although that wasn't the case in the early days of The Drives.

Jason giggles "have a good day" as Bert and I leave. Jason will not come with us. Jason is either a) a gigantic wuss with not one adventurous bone in his body, or b) very intelligent.

--- Repeat every few weeks ---