Super lame. That is how I have been feeling about my blog (or lack thereof) lately. In an effort to try to curtail my rampant “I don’t give a rat’s ass” attitude, I’ve been trying to get/stay focused at work. Well, at least since the Casey Anthony trial has been over. Since I’m trying to make work something I actually DO instead of whine about, whenever something to blog about comes to mind, I say, “Oh, I’ll just remember that and write it this evening after the Hellion goes to bed.” Go ahead. Laugh all you want. Because we all know that NEVER happens. Most of the time I completely forget what it was I was going to blog about, or even the fact that I have a blog, amidst the craziness that is the 2 hours (maybe) between the time I get home and the Hellion is tucked in.
As if being a working mom wasn’t chaotic and exhausting enough, Hubby has been working out of town during the week for the past several weeks. I get all the fun of being a single mom during the week, with the added joy of doing the laundry for everyone on the weekend. By the time I get to that blessed quiet time after T has gone to bed, all I can usually manage is doing a little laundry or dishes and a half hour on the couch – tops – before I fall out. I might last as long as an hour if I’m catching up on True Blood or something else I really love to watch.
So that’s my lame excuse for my blog being super lame lately. I’m counting down the hours until I go on vacation. I’m hoping the time away will do my fried, burnt out brain some good. Any bets on how long that will last when I get back to my office, with its vanilla colored walls and stacks of depos and medical records? Or how many depo summaries in a row one person can do before they flip the flip out? (I might be nearing that number in the very near future.)
My current level of burnt-out-ness requires a deeper level of therapy than the occasional “mental health day”. This level requires a week of beach, pool, sun, and large amounts of adult beverages. A super cute cabana boy to wait on me hand and foot wouldn’t hurt, but I don’t suppose Hubby would be down with that. Instead I’ll be playing with my son in the sand, teaching him how to play putt-putt and seeing my husband for more than one day in a row before one of us has to dash off for some reason. Hopefully I will be a refreshed and ready to kick ass Momalegal when I get back!