Me Vs. Me. Sarah Mlynowski
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counter. “To go.” I’m starving. All I had for lunch was coffee, coffee and more coffee.
What a day. What an amazing, incredible, exhausting, overwhelming day.
The show went smoothly. My segment went perfectly. I called the mothers and convinced them (in Spanish) to come on the show, where I got them a proper translator. Both Curtis and Ron praised me for a job well done.
When my meal is ready, I return to my apartment. My doorman informs me that my mattress and frame are waiting for me. Micha, the porter, helps me carry them up to my apartment. I give him a twenty and then sink into the couch, turn on the news and dig into my chicken.
Heather is in her room, chatting on the phone, and doesn’t come out to say hello. If I weren’t so damn tired, I’d be insulted.
A picture of the kidnapped kid flashes across CNN and I feel a pang that she went to Paula Zahn and not us. My BlackBerry buzzes a few times, but it’s only sports scores. When I’m done eating, I strip off my clothes, wash off my makeup, replace the couch pillows, make my bed and then climb underneath the sheets. Tired and happy, I think about potential stories for tomorrow. Maybe the defense attorney will be willing to speak to us. Maybe someone will find the Cookie Cutter. What will happen with the hurricane? I cannot wait to chase these stories.
Crap. Tomorrow—maybe I should call it re-today?—I won’t be doing any chasing. More likely, I’m going to be getting chased. By my future mother-in-law.
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