You know, for the most part, I. Hate. My. Job.
But on days like this, when I breeze in, fiddle around and breeze out at noon, not to be seen again until Wednesday, I don’t mind it at all. It’s easier to like your job (or workplace – these are terms I easily confuse) when you’re not actually there.
So here I am, frozen pizza at home for lunch, sitting in front of my computer, blogging and reading other blogs, thinking about chores to do. There’s no Chore du Jour today (except I already unloaded the dishwasher and I should fold the rest of the laundry – wait, Hot Damn! I did that already!), but I may just finally clean the fridge before it actually attacks me for my neglect.
BTW, if I were single, purple and made of plastic I’d want to marry my Dyson. Beg, borrow or steal one. Well, you can’t borrow mine, but maybe someone else’s will suffice.
Next up, the eye doctor in an hour. Boo, hisss. Gene’s there right now (it’s the same practice) and hasn’t called to tell me our insurance doesn’t cover the eye doctor, so I’m hoping for the best. I would really like to have contact lenses in time for the big trip to IN. It would be nice to not be confused for Bill/Macaulay’s 14 year old little sister, y’know?