Wake me up when August ends

They don't call it the Dog Days of Summer for nothing.

To be sure, there have been some great aspects to this month. When the first day is spent getting to know your new colleagues, and getting in a laugh or two over a beer or two (or three...) it can't be all for naught. But boy, has it been close.

This blog is not for complaining, though; it's for funny and interesting stories about life in the big city. And here goes the ridiculous joke that is my life this month.

It starts with a phone call three weeks ago. As the clock ticks mercilessly toward deadline, instinct kicks in and I tend to pick up a ringing telephone without much thought. This time it wasn't a source, however, but John, asking me how my day is going and the usual niceties. I didn't have time for niceties.

"What's going on, I'm working on something for deadline," I quipped.

"Oh well I got a call from incident command down in Louisiana. They have a job for me down there, an evidence custodial position. I'd leave Wednesday night for two weeks."

"Wednesday as in two days from now?" I felt a little blindsided. It takes some emotional preparation to have John away for more than a few days at a time.

"Yeah, is that OK."

"I guess so."

What else was I going to say? No? He had wanted to go so very badly so I let him go and prepared to fend for myself for two weeks.

The first week didn't go so bad considering the short notice and the fact that we only spoke a few minutes a day. Work would keep me more than busy, as vacations wrapped up and I wrote for almost every edition. Come home late, throw something in the oven, go for a run, eat while watching baseball, shower and bed. It was a little stressful, and sleep didn't come easy, but I survived.

The sleeping issue, though, grew worse and that's when a series of events that would make the back half of the month slog by passed. Just a few days after John left, I went to a friend's birthday party that involved drinking carafe's of boxed white wine, trips to sweaty hipster clubs and smoky hookah bars, two gin and tonics that ripped apart my stomach and a 3am cab ride/LIRR ride home. No sleep there. The next night was an action-packed one with my mother, of all people, and a short sleep then too.

The week stumbled and bumbled along, long days supplemented by ready-to-eat meals and restless nights. And then came the adventure that would be the weekend.

(Here is where I would through a sidebar, if we were in newspaper-land. It deserves its own blog.)

After working late and gathering enough food to feed an army via trips to three separate grocery stores, I crashed out Friday night. The next thing you know, it was 4:30 am and time for me to get on the road. Destination: Saratoga.

Saturday went relatively well, considering the early start and losing $40 at the track. But once again no sleep. At this point I'm getting pretty tired, but I had to make it through my sister-in-law's baby shower and then the long, arduous trip home.

Suffice to say it poured all day. A three hour tour turned into a six hour odyssey in the pouring rain and nasty traffic. I spilled an entire cup of coffee on myself and my white blazer. Bringing stuff into the house was a challenge in the river that became my street.

I cried. Twice.

And when my month couldn't have gotten any worse, the LIRR caught on fire and 1/3 the trains were canceled for the week. The latter event's impact on my psyche doesn't need explanation if you have ever lived in a major metropolitan area.

But the good news is Wednesday is September 1. John is back, the sun is shining and maybe the fall will be a little less frenetic.