Let's call this day "Angry Day", okay?
These last few weeks have been those kind that make me want to just quit and run away with the circus. Or the gypsies. I bet gypsies would know how to party.
I'm angry because I've got a sick kid who is up all night and not only do I get to stay up all night with her, I get to get up in the morning and look refreshed for work. In this task, I fail miserably and spend the entire day hearing "You look tired!" from coworkers and customers. Tired is small-town code for "You look like shit!" you know.
I'm angry because there are bills to pay, a mortgage that just swoops out of my bank account every two weeks and cheques that bounce because the company I work for can't get it's head out of it's ass long enough to ensure my pay gets put into my account on time - because of a clerical error.
I'm angry because John gets mad that I don't want to discuss our finances every second of every day. He mistakes this for not caring. I care. I care so much that even if our daughter didn't have a fever of 104 and didn't want to watch Scooby Doo at 4am, I would be awake worrying about it. Sometimes I just want to sit with him and gossip or tell him how ripped this girl is at my gym. I can tell he's just waiting for his turn to start talking about it again.
I'm angry because I had to give up my precious Wednesdays off. We need the money. So now the one day a week I had to take a breather, catch up and clean up without the usual distractions of the weekend is gone. I'm mourning the luxury of that one day like you wouldn't believe.
Beyond all that, I'm sad. I'm tired of hard. I'm tired of worry. I'm tired of hiding the bags under my eyes and looking forward to that one day where I can just be. Cause that day isn't coming anytime soon.
