Never before have so many people at work commented on projects that they’ll need my help with “soon” or “in the future”. Never in my time here have people made me feel like a such a necessary cog to this operation. Never have I felt so incredibly guilty about something that hasn’t even happened yet. I’m struggling mightily with the decision to wait another week and a half before giving my notice, because I feel like such a horrible person each time I nod and smile as someone commits me to a project down the road. But Hubby and I still have to sit down and examine our finances more closely, and he doesn’t get home for another week. I know I need to wait, but every day I feel a little bit worse.
I’m supposed to be guest posting for Bre today while she’s in London, but I can’t figure out her instructions for logging into her blog. It seems like such a simple task, no? Yes, that’s what I thought too, so I didn’t test it out before she left. Now I’m sitting with a drafted entry and lacking the brain cells that are necessary to understanding how to post it. I know I’m not really all that important, and her blog will probably survive without me, but I hate to promise something and then not follow through.
I owe phone calls to pretty much every single friend in my address book, but each evening, I sit down on the train and opt to fall asleep rather than dialing the phone. Seriously, what the heck is wrong with me that I HATE talking on the phone so much? Why can’t we all just correspond by email, text messages, and smoke signals? I miss my friends, and love them, and would so much rather just hang out than come up with riveting phone conversation for 30 minutes. Why do they have to live so far away?
You want to go for a walk? You want to play after dinner? You want to lay on the floor and get your bellies rubbed? Well, how about you just sit here next to the couch so that I can half-heartedly scratch your head while zoning out to the Pussycat Dolls Present: Girlicious. Well, okay, I guess I’ll feed you your dinner. To everyone out there who seems to think I’m ready for kids? The kids would like to voice their vehement disagreement.
I seem to have gotten some tiny grain of something stuck between my eye and my eyelid, and no amount of blinking, flushing with cool water, or forced tears will do anything about evacuating it from the premises. It huuuuuuuurts!