Right now, I wish I could take myself back about 30 years. To the point where I’m, I dunno, three? Old enough to talk, but not too old to throw myself down on the floor, flail my hands and feet, and SCREAM!
I’m tired, Internet.
I’m tired of living in a messy house.
Tired of having three-foot high mounds of laundry to do.
And five-foot mounds of laundry to fold.
Tired of having a dirty kitchen.
Especially when it comes to the mysterious smell in the refrigerator.
Tired of looking at the spit-up stains on my clothes, the furniture…even the carpet.
Tired of being fat.
And of being too tired to do something about being fat.
Tired of working myself to the bone.
And of being too afraid of losing my job to complain about it.
Tired of being broke.
So tired of being broke.
And of feeling guilty for complaining about being broke, because, you know, at least we both have jobs, and a steady income, when so many don’t.
So yeah, I’m tired of this recession, too.
And of the stupid ass debate over health care reform. We need it. End of story (I say that even though I WORK in health care advertising!).
And of the even stupider ass idiots who can’t get over their racist selves and admit that Obama in no way resembles Hitler (I mean, really? Did you guys GO to History class?).
I’m tired of feeling like I’m trying to do too much, and failing at everything.
I’m. Just. Tired. TIRED.
And I’m not ready for it to be Monday tomorrow.
And even though when I look back at this post I’m probably going to regret writing it, I feel a little better now.
Temper tantrum over.