Yesterday morning I struggled to get out of the shower. I was so deep in my daydream about what I had to do at the office. Jeez I had a good time.
Better get onto planning that trip to Brewarrina for the teenage pregnancy position paper, I thought, and mused for a while on the best way to run a community round-table discussion. Then I had a meeting to discuss funding for a research project on swingers in NSW, and scheduled some time to write a factsheet on chlamydia for the web.
I did used to have a fun job.
We're only on tank water here though, and at about 30%, so I finally had to cut my little party short and get back to my real life.
Can you tell things at home with the puppies are wearing me out a little?
Ivy has the naughties, big time, and Teddy has the cling-ons, so all day it feels like I just prise one baby off my shin long enough for the other to kick me in it. I'm planning changes - stricter routines, better planning of Ivy's activities, and other options, but this week has been so full-on that I'm all over the place like a mad-womans shit.
The naughty shelf has been piled high, and my right hip, doing overtime as Teddy-shelf, has locked up tight like drum. Even the naughtiness + time= comedy equation has failed to work lately.
Sense of humour going south, and dreaming of the good old days writing papers on the increase of syphilis in Sydney's gay population.
I think I'm in need of a holiday.