The March Hare

Sometimes, having three jobs is not so fun as it sounds. Sometimes, having three jobs is terrible.

Let me start by saying that I am not a workaholic. Far from it. My best times are spent onmy couch, with a book and some toast. Or on my porch, with a book and a pack of cigarettes. That's who I am. Unfortunately, for the last four years I have had to juggle more than two jobs at a time, leaving very little couch/porch time left over.

In the past, I have been (simultaneously): a coffee-shop worker, a massage therapist, a dance teacher, a cleaning lady for a dance company, a receptionist, and a server. So far, I have kept all but dance teacher, cleaning lady, and coffee-shop worker. Today I worked a lunch shift, met with the director of a dance company about writing integrated lesson plans for adult literacy classes based on our 'Anatomy' show, bicycled home, and am about to go meet with three massage clients in their homes. This is exhausting, people. Where's the 'me' time?

Right now, I have this dream. See, my dad, who scared the crap out of me by remaining in New Orleans during Katrina (he will get his own post, if not book, for this), and who somehow managed to come out of it smelling like roses, is now part-owner of both a nice house in Hammond, Louisiana and a restaurant in Covington, Louisiana. My dream involves getting on a train (the only way to travel, really), taking the damage tour and weeping, riding on the back of my dad's motorcycle, getting the princess treatment at his restaurant (it's called Vineyard's One, for chrissakes, it's my family legacy), and actually marching with the Paradise Tumblers once again on Mardi Gras day in the Quarter.

But first, I have to figure out where the hell I am, and where the hell I'm supposed to be tomorrow.