I Am Too Tired To Title This Post.

Whenever I tell anyone that I work for myself, usually their response is, "Aren’t you lucky. All that free time." This usually makes me laugh so hard I need to summon my cabana boy to hand me a hankie. But I feel it's about time to come clean, to give everyone a glimpse into my secret world, my days fueled by martini lunches and caviar binges while lying naked on my mink couch watching Oprah on my diamond-encrusted TV.

Come join me, won’t you?

I spent last Thursday finishing up a job I had been working on for the past two weeks. Unfortunately this meant that I had to cancel my manicure, pedicure and aura cleansing I had scheduled for that day. Around two o’clock I suddenly remember I have children, and after taking one last sip of cognac from my glass slipper I hop in the Bentley and run off to retrieve them.

As soon as we get home my client is calling with revisions on the job I just finished. I attempt to work while simultaneously acting as jumprope-turner and patron at an imaginary restaurant. I realize that the chances of finishing my job become slimmer as evening progresses and homework, dinner and clean-up approach. I regret firing the cook, the maid and the private tutor that morning.

The same client calls to tell me he has another job for me, this one due on Monday. My eyes glaze over thinking about the money to be made and I decide to make my design staff work the weekend, abandoning their families just to fill my coffers. After hanging up I realize I have no design staff to speak of and it will be me working over the weekend, abandoning my family to fill my own coffers. I resolve to drink heavily.

I work furiously Friday morning in order to steal away later that afternoon for a haircut that has been cancelled twice. I finish the job and send it off, just as my accountant calls to tell me that my sales tax return needs to be picked up, signed and mailed with a check by Monday. I agree to swing by that afternoon, and remember this promise as my head is being lowered into a shampoo bowl at the salon. Postpone accountant. Deeply regret firing chauffeur and personal assistant last week.

Numerous emails await me upon my return home, containing revisions to job #1, and also inquiries as to the progress of job #2 due on Monday. I lie boldly and say it’s "coming along nicely" when in fact I can’t even remember what the project description is. The light, perky feeling from my 90-minute-old haircut quickly fades when I get another call from the client telling me that document size on job #1 is wrong, and I need to revise and upload a new document that evening. I call for my barista to whip me up a cappuccino. When no one answers, I reluctantly make one for myself.

Begin planning for gathering that I am hosting on Sunday for my family, all 21 of them. I yell at the catering staff to get moving, but this only angers my husband, sister-in-law and children who threaten to walk out.

Work Friday night until 2:30am Saturday morning and upload files with a note that asks, "Is that Monday deadline flexible?" I receive no reply and imagine the client is laughing so hard he cannot type out a response.

Sleep in on Saturday morning and feel guilty, imagining my children will tell their friends, "Mommy has wine and then doesn't wake up the next day. Says she's been working." I spend half of the day cleaning and preparing for the upcoming gathering and the other half thinking of a way out of my Monday deadline, everything from, "My computer caught on fire" to "Yes, it seems I am the first case of bird flu in this country."

The party goes on all day Sunday, and most of the evening is spent cleaning up. Once again am remorseful that I sent the maid packing and have pangs of regret over my winning lottery ticket that I donated to charity.

I finally start working on my job at around 10pm.

I work until 4:00am Monday morning.

I email the layout and get to sleep by 4:30am.

Get up at 7:15 to get the girls ready for school. I receive an email from the client saying he loves the layout.

I receive another email from him saying that, though he still loves the layout, there are revisions. Also reminds me that he is waiting for the second part of the job. And also, expect further revisions on job #1 that was uploaded on Friday night. I then receive a phone call from the girls' school reminding me of the staff luncheon for 100 people that the PTA is hosting on Tuesday. I decide to run away to Vegas, but look out into driveway and realize someone has stolen my Bentley and replaced it with a minivan.

And then? Then I see this email from the witty Stacy of Another Mommy Moment, who describes herself as a "real-life desperate housewife." She tells me that she has nominated my post for the Perfect Post Award. My day gets better. To thank her I consider sending over an elaborate gift basket filled with spa certificates, candles and chocolate but realize that I am broke after making my sales tax payment. I curse the government, but am still in a jovial mood and decide my writing staff deserves a treat, and I lay myself down on the couch just in time to catch Oprah.

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