Whitney Gala and other adventures

Wrote this article for Scallywag and Vagabond about the Whitney Art Museum Gala and studio party. I'm actually quite pleased with how it came out, since I was running on 2.5 hours of sleep at the party and while writing it.

Lack of sleep is a running theme this week and I do not care for it. I am not one who performs well without sleep or food (or champagne or constant attention) and it is taking it's toll.

For example, here is a timeline of the last 23 hours in the life of Sarah.
Midnight: head to bed, feeling righteous about the early hour.

2:30am: wake up convinced there is a rock pressing down on my chest. It is the cat. He is lovely.

3:30am: give up on tossing and turning, get up to clean bathroom, organize medicine cabinet and shower, very much confusing The Boy.

4:50am: catch train into the city, gazing in wonderment at all the people. What are they doing awake? Shouldn't they be in bed?

5:50am: clutch cappuccino like firstborn child, chug with abandon.

6:00am: film TV segment without falling asleep/over. Success.

7:00am-11:00:am coffee. So much coffee.

11:00am-12:00pm: get through phone conference without expressing my opinion/bellowing, "STOP TALKING, I HATE YOU ALL." Success.

1:00pm: acting class. Delightful, productive, exhausting.

2:15pm: peruse boots in random shoe store before wondering what the balls I was doing out of bed when I didn't have to be.

2:30pm: miss train. Curse.

3:00pm: catch train. Curse (with excitement).

3:40pm: awake on train with woman's head on my shoulder. Pat it gently.

3:50pm: regret tender gesture in the face of woman's audible and rhythmic flatulence.

4:30pm: arrive home, after brief autumnal jaunt on scooter.

4:31pm: arrive at bed, with SVU and gummy bears in tow.

6:00pm: yell (aloud) at myself, "WHY AREN'T YOU SLEEPING?" Fall asleep.

9:00pm: gently woken by The Boy who is horrified to hear of aforementioned schedule.

The weird thing is, I don't even mind. In fact, I realized last night that the life I am living now would not only satisfy my dreamy teenage self, but it would excite the hell out of her. I can't believe I got so damn lucky. Or so damn tired.