Unemployment is awesome, but a smidge different than planned

First day of freedom went exceptionally well. First, I actually slept last night (I know that's normal for most people, but stressy type-A people like me - I know you're out there - understand the enormous difficulties of sleeping when you have all the world's problems to mull over and feel anxious about). When I say the day went "exceptionally well," by the way, that should not be confused with going "as planned." Because the day didn't turn out quite as pictured. For your amusement, here is The Plan vs. The Reality.

The Plan:
• 6:45 spring out of bed when TubaDad's alarm goes off
• 6:50 dash downstairs to get TubaDad a refreshing glass of ice water
• 7:00 shower and dress in perky, slimming outfit
• 7:30 drop TubaDad off at train station (blue car is in shop)
• 8:30 - 10:30 handwrite thank you notes to friends, tidy up house, start new diet by eating something nutritious for breakfast
• 11:00 go to gym for rigorous workout
• 2:00 - 4:00 start outline for book I'm going to write
• 5:00 greet TubaDad at door in lingerie and with steaming plate of hot dinner
The Reality:
• 6:45 groan loudly when TubaDad's alarm wakes me up, then realize that he is now the Sole Breadwinner and paste smile on face
• 7:28 throw on ugly sweats that should be burned, drag hair into scraggly scary ponytail, and drive TubaDad to train station
• 7:45 - 3:00: lie around happily in huge ugly sweats constantly snacking, watching sappy tv movies, blogging, and ignoring the fleetingly annoying thoughts of "whew, I need to shower" and "must do something productive"
• 3:05 remember that TubaDad is coming home in a couple of hours and launch into full-scale panic of showering, figuring out dinner, cleaning the house like a maniac on amphetamines, strapping on arm weights as I run haphazardly up and down the stairs so I can say I exercised, and briefly getting creative with the scissors as I add a bunch of layers to my hair. (Note to self: creativity is better explored with a pen or paintbrush, not hair scissors.)(Second note to self: make corrective appointment with hairdresser tomorrow. Don't forget to bring small gift of apology.)

Whew. Ok, so I'm not going to win the domestic goddess of the year award quite yet. Tomorrow I'll work on pacing myself. And balance. Definitely working on balance tomorrow. Now that the downstairs is sparkling clean and I'm exhausted, I'm going to pour myself a nice glass of wine and wait for my sweetie to come home. Ahhhhhhhh, that's better.