June 08

I am one of those people that when I have a really bad day, all I want to do is everything that isn't good for me. Every day that goes well is a day where I can easily slip on my running shoes after work, pay my bills online, do my laundry and still find time to talk to my mom. All after a fourteen hour day. Not today. I know that this day is only one of many stressful days I will encounter with my job, and that I shouldn't take it seriously, and I also know that tomorrow the fire spitting baboons that are my charges will be docile little lambs. (Ok maybe not tomorrow) And in spite of the fact that i mutilated my finger on the food processor blade, endured the bilingual tantrum of a four year old whose specialty is glass-shattering screams, and turned out a dinner that looked a lot like what my cat used to leave in potted plants, I remained calm. All until my boss, (we will call her Ms Windsor) came home and even more calmly than I, explained the exact art of washing an un-potty trained four year old's undergarments, and coolly suggested that it be that way henceforth. Then she walked up the basement steps, turned off the light, (I was still cleaning) and slammed the door. That's when I realized I was mad, and I had been since I sliced my finger in a bowl of mushy croquettes. And that's when I decided to forgo the run and the shower, and opt for sweatpants and a jar of peanut butter instead.