Three Hours

Mr. P is gone at school for exactly three hours a day.

And you know what? I still can't seem to get anything done.

I draw up these grand plans for the morning and think, ok, I'll go grocery shopping and mop the floors, maybe a little dusting. If I'm feeling really ambitious, I will toss around the idea of folding some laundry.

All you would need to do is take one look at my bedroom, and you would be able to tell that my visions are for naught.

Now that I have a job which pays me actual money, not Monopoly money or gift certificates, I am having a difficult time, well, finding time. For the past two days, I have had a bit of writer's block, and let me tell you, it is way different to be funny when you think no one is listening compared to your boss wanting FUNNY. I was hired to be thoughtful and funny, and some days it is difficult to to it on command. Don't get me wrong, I love doing it, but some days that spark is just not there. And it bugs me. Because then I feel like I am letting my boss, whom I really like, down. Gina doesn't like letting people down, especially ones that send her checks that don't bounce.

Hmmm. This was supposed to be a post about how I can't get anything done, a sort of pity-party lite, and now it is pity-party heavy.

Yes, someone needs to shake me a bit and say, "Get over it woman, for god's sakes!" Any takers?

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