Ok, so how many of you were skeptical at the last post where I excitedly announced that I would be a working 9-5 Dolly (my chest wishes) ?
Well, you guys were right. My hours are no where near those of Dolly’s. After working in the medical field for as many years as I have, I knew that sadly my hours would be like my bra size….not even close to Miss 9-5 DDD Dolly.
The hours are often long and I use way more brain cells than I was allotted at creation. After these long hours, I enter the door to my home dehydrated and exhibiting signs of low blood sugar. I am mauled by my children (wait, are these wild creatures my children?) tackle style as I attempt to drag them and my pathetic body up the stairs where I guzzle water (or whatever beverage I find lingering on the counter) a little too quickly and either choke or get abdominal spasms. Then I sit with a glazed over look as drool threatens to escape and utter random “um-mmms, uh-huhs, ohs, huhs” as they competitively machine gun chatter about their day. Eventually, these ferrel beings get fed by the flat chested Dolly zombie, unless Mr. Pavlov fed them first. On the days that Mr. Pavlov beats me home, a spark of life returns to my corpse as I realize that I don’t have to spend another dreaded second in the kitchen ruining food and calling it a meal.
So blogging has become a fuzzy recollection. Maybe even a figment of my imagination. I mean, I think I blogged. Or did I?