For a moment there was a large blank space here at Gritmedia where my weblog normally resides. Its vast whiteness frightened me. But then I realized that I hadn’t written in over a week and, well, that explained it all. Movable Type was just doing its job, refreshing the page as usual.

Speaking of, MT has chosen me as a beta tester for TypePad, their new weblogging and hosting service. So far, it’s pretty cool, but that’s all I can say. This blog, one in a long series of ventures in self-publishing, is called Eight Times Over, taken from the name of a literary magazine I never published in college. Of course, I haven’t had a moment to really write anything at the other blog, much less keep up with Gritmedia alone. And it’s because I’ve been working full-time.

How do you people do it? It’s been nearly two years since I last had a full-time position during regular business hours and I forgot how hard it is to manage my time. Up at seven in the morning and at work from nine till six, then back home for a bit of dinner and snuggling before bed, which usually happens at an even midnight. Of course, that’s not before I spend some time trying hard to wrap up what’s left of my other freelance obligations. Suddenly, this summer has gone from long days of lap-swimming and iced mochas to long days of Macromedia Homesite (we work on PCs at this particular establishment) and overpriced Chelsea iced coffees.

I’m not complaining though. The place I’m working at strikes just the right balance between professional and hip — cubicles and corner offices and beer in the fridge for late Friday night work sessions. Best of all, I’m getting paid, and after a year of serious financial stress, it’s really nice to be able to relax for a little while and do an eensy bit of spending.

Because The Family will be at the New Jersey shore in two weeks, I bought a swimsuit from the collection of sale items at ae.com. After about 45 minutes in front of the bathroom mirror in my new purchase, my pale stomach like a snowdrift between the bright striped boy shorts and the halter top, I decided to join a gym. I made it through two miles on the treadmill after nearly killing myself and those around me. “I’m not a gym person,” I muttered to the tanned and sculpted individuals who stared as I walked back off the treadmill at the end of my time and attempted to travel, rubber-legged, to the water fountain while feeling like the whole room was still moving away from me on a belt below my feet. I’m going back tonight!

This weekend, I hightailed it to the Apple store for a new iPod. See, because I can’t stand to listen to the crap they pipe in at the gym. On Saturday, between songs on my constantly-skipping discman, I heard Paula Abdul’s “Forever Your Girl.” That of course led to me sign up for Emusic, and though it pains me to pay for mp3s, I proceeded to download every single Yo La Tengo record ever made, and all the downtempo lounge electro boogie goodness I could find. All this for $10. A month. And when you’re used to dealing with buggy-as-hell file sharing clients like Limewire for the Mac, $10 a month doesn’t seem so bad. With a sleek little chiclet of an iPod, I couldn’t resist.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a treadmill to run on.