1. 6:15am. Alarm wakes me up, in plenty of time for me to lay in bed under the covers for a while before I start to get ready for a less-than-ordinary day.
  2. 8am. Sign in at the oncology center, am escorted to the back, where I sit in a massaging heated chair. So begins the coziest three-hour prison you can imagine.
  3. 8:40am. The nurse gets my IV hooked up, and the infusion starts. I read from my backlogged stack of Entertainment Weekly magazines. My mom brings me some tiny twist pretzels and some Diet Pepsi.
  4. 9:40am. Act I complete, now comes the ever-frustrating, time-wasting, hour-long waiting period. I shouldn't complain, but sheesh. Sitting there for a whole second hour makes me more than a little antsy.
  5. 10:40am. My December infusion is complete. Hoorah! Off to Chickfila for a victory treat--a free small peppermint milkshake. YUM.
  6. 11:30am. Drive up to the school where I work; today, instead of coming in for the after-school child care I'm coming early to fill in for one of the babies' caretakers.
  7. 12:45pm. Baby Alexander decides he no longer wants to rock in my arms. Instead, he opts for a shrill screeching that wakes Baby Drew.
  8. 1:15pm. Baby Drew spits up on me when she gets too excited while playing with the balls.
  9. 2:20pm. Snack time for the babies. I surreptitiously steal bites of broken graham cracker when no one is looking.
  10. 3pm. 30 minute break time. I have some grilled cheese crackers, which I've heard are good. This is a lie. They are phenomenal. A++.
  11. 4:35pm. We take all four babies for a walk around the school, and I recount the entirety of my postgrad life. Mrs. Phyllis assures me that being single and unemployed at 24 is perfectly acceptable; she says it's actually healthier. I'm pretty sure I agree with her.
  12. 5:05pm. Principal comes in to get her twin sons. With only Baby Drew left, I'm given leave to go.
  13. 5:10pm. I'm roped into the job I was actually hired to do--help with the K-5 kids. Which includes the kid I'd be a cougar for in 20 years, not to mention a bunch of really precious little girls.
  14. 6pm. Home a little earlier than usual. Mom and dad are estranged for the night, so I spend the night trying to get my The List App Secret Santa gift together.
  15. 8:19pm. HELP I'm so sorry for the recipient of my gift. I'm genuinely apologetic.
  16. 10:05pm. My life has been a lie. All my friends tell me I give great gifts, so I thought I'd be a great Secret Santa. Turns out, I actually need to KNOW the person I'm gifting. Basically I just found out the only way to have good sex is to have a personal relationship with someone. It should be obvious, but it's still a bummer.
  17. 11:40pm. I give up. I can't send this pile of crap. Trash it all, I'm starting over tomorrow.