The guys just ran in here to tell me that Heath Ledger had been found dead in his SoHo apartment.

I don’t know what to say about it, other than, “Damn.”

It hit me last night, as I was falling asleep around eleven o’clock, that I had to, like, work again today.  And tomorrow.  That this was not just a one-time, kick-me-in-the-neck day that would never be repeated.  No, quite the contrary: IT GETS WORSE.

Admittedly, it was not a horrible day.  It was a long day.  Having to hit the road by 7:15 a.m. (which, we learned this morning, is almost too late) and getting back to the house after 5:00 p.m. to start dinner and housework is a long day.  Seriously? (And TMI?) I didn’t have time to take a shit yesterday.  It was close to nine o’clock before I had time.  And, people, my bowel movements used to be so high on my priority list.

But it is what it is, so I need to quit my bitching.  Because it’s really NOT that bad.  And I’m quite lucky, in the grand scheme of things.  Tony is in WONDERFUL hands, with his grandmother probably treating him better than his mother.

I’ve started carrying around a list of things that I want to do when I have free time (i.e. when the baby’s asleep, when Bryan has the baby for a bit, etc)(is it awful to use two latin abbreviations in one parenthetical?), and I think that’s how I’m going to function for awhile.

It’s kinda like My Name is Earl, but with writers that aren’t on strike.