The End of the Weekend

sigh.  I need a vacation.  An actual vacation, where I don’t have to interrupt whatever I’m doing every ten minutes to yell at the kid, save the dog, protect the downstairs neighbor’s ceiling from water damage, ignore the phone, answer the door, fraternize with the bird…

I knew there was a reason to stand firm and not have a bunch of pets.  If only I’d argued that.  “Well, after you ABANDON ME, I don’t want to have to take care of them!”

Yes, I’m still stuck on the self-pity thing.  I just feel stretched-thin and pounded flat, and what amounted to a three-day weekend has only left me wishing for another day or six off.  And I don’t even want to hear about Christmas vacation.  Hope will have those days off too.

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