I can’t get any freakin’ work done! I don’t wanna.
I don’t wanna pay the bills.
I don’t wanna work on the stinkin’ IEP paperwork. Seriously, kill.me.now.
I don’t wanna wash the dishes or fold the laundry.
I don’t wanna do my work work. Even when I’m at work. Cuz, you know, I’m kinda over this whole working for living thing. I wanna be home with my babies – see. (Who aren’t babies, but they’re MY babies so, whatever).
I wanna write. I wanna be creative. I wanna bake stuff.
I wanna read blogs and play on Twitter all day and marvel at all the awesome women out there. Can’t I get paid (an exorbitant amount) to do that? Why not?
It’s 8 pm – do you think the kids have noticed they haven’t had dinner yet? I don’t hear yelling, screaming, or painful starvation moans. In any case, I need to get my freakin’ arse off the internets and do something productive.
(I’ll be back – don’t worry. I knew you were worrried).
P.S. I CAN say hell. See? Hell. But H – E – double hockey sticks is more fun, don’t you agree?