What was I thinking?!

This post is worthy of an interrobang.

I've been out of "the workforce" for just about a year and as the Baby starts to walk and act more human, I felt like taking on a small part-time job was feasible, and would allow me to justify - to myself - spending time working on my non-money earning writing craft for a half-hour to an hour a day.

A newspaper route!

For some reason that I cannot at this moment fathom, this sounded somewhat exotic. (?!) Perhaps this is a sign that I have been living in what I once heard referred to as "the baby cave" for too long, or perhaps I have just lost my mind.

The reality is that I got up this morning at 2 AM, having barely slept from being so nervous about this new venture, my stomach in knots, got in my car without showering, and drove to the newspaper place to pick up 119 papers.

I sat in the parking lot stuffing the papers into the plastic bags, while several other cars arrived, picked up papers, and then left. So, I thought, I must be doing something wrong... they told me I could sit in the parking lot and stuff them in bags, but clearly I am the only one doing so.

So I left, and started the route. It was okay for about five minutes. I mean, I pretty much expected it to be hard. Despite the street lights, people's house numbers don't exactly glow in the dark (they totally should) and I had a headlamp to help me see. But the houses are far enough apart that it's unrealistic to walk the route, so I had to keep getting in and out of my running car, walking up to houses to try to see what number they wore (and guessing wrong a lot).

I started out carefully setting the papers on the doorsteps. This lasted from about 3:30 to 5:30 AM, at which point I started freaking out a little because I was only about half done and I am supposed to be done by 6:00. It was at this point that the Husband texted to let me know that the Baby had been screaming since I left three and a half hours ago. He was not pleased. (this is a gross understatement)

Not seeing any way out other than to deliver the papers, I began hurling them a little more haphazardly. It was just about 5:45 when some other car delivering Wall Street Journals basically lapped me. While I sat in my car about to cry, he delivered three papers in about a minute and vanished into the dawn.

He was a shining example of speedy paper delivery. I don't know what I was thinking. (Did I say that? I've still barely slept) I had to finish the stupid paper route, though, so I sadly/angrily bagged the rest of my papers - I had about 30 left - and stormed out of my car to find the next house number.

Suddenly, though, the sun started to clear the horizon, and I could read the house numbers from my car. It was like magic. I flew around the last section of the neighborhood, tossing newspapers with relative abandon (in the driveway! No steps, sorry... after all, my newspaper hero did not bother with that precision) and found - almost too easily - the houses I'd spent precious minutes searching for in the dark without luck. And then it was 6:45, and I was headed home.

I DID IT.

Was it worth it? Totally not. If this does not get easier FAST, I am quitting. That's if the Husband even lets me continue after Baby's lack of sleeping abilities.

I'm not cut out to deliver newspapers. I'm just

-A Real Housewife of the North Shore