4 days, 1 hour and 56 minutes…

I’m not ready! I haven’t written my detailed, blow-by-blow instructions for the household…you know, the one where I have to remind my husband that he actually has to FEED the children. The one where I scrawl in huge-ass letters to my daughter that the garbage MUST go to the curb on Wednesday night, even though she has been responsible for this every Wednesday for the last 3 years, because she STILL can’t remember to do it? The one where I point out that if they don’t find clothes in their closets while I’m gone, that those really cool inventions called “washer” and “dryer” do NOT have warning labels on them stating they are to only be used by the adult females in the household, and to feel free to utilize that equipment freely before I return (when I’ll need to do my OWN laundry). 

I’m not ready! Maybe I’ll just direct them here to get the above info. I’ve already typed it out, after all. 

Oh, and my freakin’ job just gave us 5 hours of mandatory OT to be completed by Sunday midnight. Sh*t. I don’t need this. Have I mentioned I hate my job? 

In the immortal words of Madge the comic strip, which a friend of mine sent in an e-mail yesterday…”I don’t get it. I keep pressing escape, and yet I’m still here.” 

Sigh. 

Oh, and from that time above? Subtract 4 hours, which is how much sooner than the plane takes off that I will be leaving my house. Ugh. So, it’s really 3 days…some hours, and some minutes. Too early in the morning to depress myself further with my poor math skills.