I would argue that I'm not truly a slacker, but you wouldn't believe me.
I could offer excuses of mountains of paperwork, a batch of new therapy kids, family visitations and relationship obligations, but you could care less.
You want a new post, you want it now and you don't care what it's about.
Okay, so only two of you have emailed me missives to that extent, but two counts as a mob these days!
I've been slacking. At least in regards to my house and my blog.
Thank heavens for the maid or I would be living in filth. This is completely untrue, I'm a neat freak . . . but I do abhor dusting, mopping and vacuuming - so filth in the sense of dirt.
Ms. Sizzle will have a heart attack but, brace yourself, my Christmas tree is still up.
I keep meaning to take it down, honestly, but it makes me sad and I don't have the time.
They should put trees on casters so you can just roll it across your house into an unused room or spacious closet to hide it from the view of those who may be offended. I know I said I would have it down by Valentine's, but forces conspired against me. It's not my fault! I can't be held accountable. Ummm . . can I move that deadline to Easter?
Imagine there's a transition here.
I hired a new therapist for the company - R. He's magnificent. Unfortunately, one of my other therapists (a 30-yr old male) has developed a case of hero worship that's bordering on stalking. Here's a brief glimpse:
This morning, I enter the office where - typically - C has boiled some water and made us all Chai Tea or Green Tea or Earl Grey. Whatever he feels like that morning. But not this morning, no.
I notice something that smells alluring . . . and should not be ingested because I don't NEED it!
Me: C, ummm, that doesn't smell like tea.
C: R. prefers cocoa.
Me: So . . . you made cocoa. Because R. prefers it. I see. Out of curiousity what does your wife prefer?
I look to C's wife - also a therapist - and she just rolls her eyes, sighs and says: "Like it even matters." She's been putting up with this for two weeks now, I think she's given up hope.
She mentioned something the other day about wondering if her husband had bi-sexual tendencies. I laughed - as was appropriate - but I also secretly wondered it, myself. One morning last week I walked in to find him sitting achingly close to the new therapist, with his hand under the table. "Are you guys holding hands?" I asked, seemingly jokingly. But it looked like a possibility.So, C. made cocoa. For R. And apparently the rest of us. And force fed me two huge mugs full.
After I'd already had my morning bottle of Dasani. By the time I got to my first center, my eyeballs were floating.
Let's just say that no child had more than 30 minutes of continuous therapy.
Apparently, in my old age, my bladder has shrunk to the size of a peanut.
I haven't spent that much time in a bathroom since I was a barhopper in college. And grad school. And for a brief stint afterwards.
It's relatively obvious that I'm a little too discombobulated to be writing at the moment.
But at least I have a post up! :)
I promise to stop being a slacker soon and put up an actual post that makes some sense.