Day 117 of 200: Working on Sunday Blues

I spent most of today working. When I wasn’t working I was letting my oven self-clean itself and hoping it didn’t set my house on fire. While the oven cleaned itself, I cleaned the oven racks. I’m sick of my smoke detectors going off every time I turn on the oven.

I had to work because my mouth keeps making promises my ass has to keep. In this case ass = fingers. I really want my Thanksgiving weekend to start Wednesday afternoon. So here I am spending Sunday on the couch with work. Well, not now. I’m done working for today.

While I was knee-deep in the woe-is-me, I remembered the olden days at the height of my Very Busy Important Career Woman phase when I would drive to Eden Prairie, aka The Hellmouth, to work on the weekends. I had to do this because someone else’s mouth would make promises my ass had to keep. I did it because I thought handling all the things and meeting all the deadlines would get me something. It did not.

Now, I know exactly how many dollars working on the weekend will get me and how many days not working, and that’s something.

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