On the rare occasion that someone calls me an overachiever, I get mad. How dare they.
But right now, I'm wondering.......
Let's look at the "evidence" that may prove the plaintiffs are somewhat, maybe, teensy-weensy a little bit right. Shall we?
I have three freelance writing projects I'm working on right now.
I occasionally record a podcast with my friends Rosie and Deniz.
I write for this blog. You may have heard of it. It's called The Daily Bailey, though it is--by and large--not a daily publication.
I am working on a piece to submit to a writing contest, and have other writing contests on my radar. And, organized in a spreadsheet. Whatever.
I make Flip videos with my antiquated recording technology, expecting them to come off to an audience as funnier than they actually are.
They're not funny, except to my friend Courtney.
Last night I started messing around with Windows Live Movie Maker and I think I have opened a new can of broadcasting/writing/Internetting worms...a can that might be able to actually make my Flip footage somewhat worth watching.
I have at least four (from what I can think of off the top of my head) in-the-works cross stitch projects going right now.
I read basically every night. Except lately, because my attention span has wandered off somewhere and I am too distracted to go look for it.
I keep up with several YouTube channels and shows, including Ellen, My Drunk Kitchen, Go On, Gilmore Girls, Everybody Loves Raymond, Hot in Cleveland, and other TV Land favorites....
I make a point to insert as much sarcasm as I can muster into every seam and crack of Facebook. This in itself could be a full time job.
I also regularly go hiking with friends, hang out at the gym a time or two each week, practice my dance moves for me myself and I at home. You know, the usual for any single person without a boyfriend or a job. Just kidding. I so totally practice my dance moves whether I am attached to a kissable boy or job or not. I can't let my gift to the world get rusty.
I guess I just want to let you all know that while I might have all this stuff going on, I am in fact quite lazy.
For example, it takes me forevvvvvvvvvvvver to leave the house each day. And it's not because I'm primping. It's because I'm doing any number of things instead of focusing on just one. Primping would actually be means to an end, but I am usually checking my email, removing cobwebs from the ceiling, washing approximately three dishes, etc.
I consider making a pot of coffee an accomplishment. If I set the coffee maker the night before to brew the next morning, forget about it. That'll have me patting myself on the back for a month.
I make huge, disgusting messes out of both my living quarters AND my car. Several people can bear witness to this. But if you want their names and numbers, you're going to have to wait, because I will be too busy with YouTube to gather all that information for you.
ATTENTION! (By the way, any potential employers who may be reading this: I WILL work hard for you. Promise. I might have strange ways of working, and recuperating, but I do get the job done. And clearly (apparently) over-extend myself a bit. Which shows dedication and passion. Right?)
I often don't eat until mid to late afternoon. On one recent day the first caloric item beyond coffee to enter my bloodstream came around 3 p.m. Currently it is 2:09 p.m. and all I have eaten are three tiny baby (but delicious) scones.
You'll be happy to know that I don't forget about showering and personal hygiene in all of this. On gym days, I take two showers a day. I have an obscene amount of scented lotion at my disposal. I actually put a moratorium on such as a potential gift from family members this past holiday season.
I mean it. I sent out an email announcement requesting to not receive any scented lotion.
I also have several perfume bottles, that admittedly are less often used than the lotion. Sometimes I take webcam pics of the really old stuff that still smells good after, ahem, 14-15 years.
No joke. This stuff was a party favor at a birthday party I attended in seventh or eighth grade. And it still smells just fine.
Anyway, friends, I think I've rambled on long enough about all this. And now that it's 2:17 I should probably seriously consider getting some lunch.
P.S. Update: Now that I'm done editing this post, it's 2:33.