something different

Most days I spend most of my at-work working hours in my chair at me desk.  Today I barely saw my cubicle.  Much as I enjoy a break in the routine, something to change it up, I’m really worn out.  I hurt in places I haven’t used since I gave up the monkey bars in fifth grade.  I spend the day climbing piping.  While it was being assembled.  With torches and grinders right by my head.  While the wind gusted through bearing enough dust to suffocate on.

I’m filthy.  I hurt.  I’m tired.  I’m still dehydrated after many glasses of water.  I’m hungry less than an hour after dinner.  I’d forgotten just why I went back to school to get a desk job.

I want someone to take care of me.  I came home, got the kids and fresh load of scavanged boxes into the house.  I snacked them.  I (thankfully) managed to get out of my greased and grimed clothes.  I started dinner, emptied the trash, did laundry, put dished away.  Severed dinner.  Did more lanudry, cleaned up dinner.  Did more laundry.  Got kids into PJ’s, teeth brushed, read to, tucked in.  There’s more laundry.  The sink’s full of dishes.  The stove is burried under dirty pans.  I’ve got piles of things to sort and pack.

I want someone to take care of me.  I want to come home and have someone to open the door when I’m dropping stuff and my two year old just got taken out by an escaped box riding hurricane force winds.  I want dinner to be almost reay, just far enough out I can take a shower first.  I want the chores done.  I want someone to lift the PB into bed when I can’t manage to move a thumb higher than my face.  I want someone to get J to hold still long enough to take the last of the Easter candy off her face.  In other words, I want a wife.

But not really, this is just a joke I have with myself.  Only one person has ever appreciated this joke.  She has a high-maintenence husband and an adult son who often functions like a 12 year old.  And so, having a similarly twisted idea of humor, she gets my Working Single Mom joke.

About m

My ego wants to think I'm a writer but my heart knows I'm just another one of God's Kids who sometimes has words to say. 2 human kids and 3 feline kids call me Mom. Or Mooooooom. Or mewom, depending which you ask. I'm kinda-sorta busy being a student again; this time I signed myself up for a bizarre torture known as Graduate School. Theoretically in 4ish years I'll have earned some more nice letters to put with my name. Let's face it, I'm addicted to learning and probably need rehab to restore me to sanity and remove the obsession to read books. I don't remember what free time is but I think I like to spend it sleeping or playing in the mud on a river bank.
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