I am getting out of the BBY just in time. New policy! My position, along with media and merch, have to be in at SIX AM on Sunday-Wednesday morning. That means Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday are spent rolling out of bed, saying, “Shit! Shit!” at 5:45 am. Also, debating whether I should get Starbucks and clock in a few minutes late, or skip the ‘bucks, and risk committing homicide. Because me? Not a morning person.

I’m also not a big nap taker but desperate times call for desperate measures. I was so sleep-deprived by this afternoon that I couldn’t even stay awake through Oprah! (Every day at four, Corona actually cuddles with me and we watch Oprah. Damon and I are convinced that Corona can definitely relate to a pleasantly plump, black female.) I lay down for a brief nap, only to wake up in a sweat. It’s kind of light out, and all I can see is the clock: 6:50. “Shit! Shit!” I mutter. I have to be at work in TEN MINUTES! Why didn’t I set an alarm? Oh yeah, I went to bed at 4:30 and slept for FOURTEEN HOURS?! Also, where is Damon? He had mentioned they were changing the bulbs in the store overnight this week. He must still be at work.

I throw my hair up in a ponytail, stumble into my Best Buy garb, and hurry out the door. SHIT! Why is it so. damn. HOT?! The electric sign at the bank across the street reads 86 degrees. At SEVEN in the MORNING! [Damn you global warming!] I pull out of the driveway and immediately notice…why is there so much TRAFFIC?! I am hot, and sweaty, and not-showered, and dizzy from having woken up so abruptly. I am so, so confused. I pull out my phone to call Damon, see where he is, see how I’m doing on time…

Yeah. It was definitely seven ‘o clock… PM.

Shit, shit.