Days like this are hard to kick in the ass.
I’m coming off a weekend out of town, followed by 2 days of feeling like crap thanks to some sort of cruel “summer cold.” That equals 4 days of ignoring my inbox, pushing back deadlines, ignoring my son’s disaster of a bedroom, and pushing aside piles of laundry.
Parents don’t get sick days.
I don’t get to come back to this job after a couple of days of laying in my bed, eating chicken soup and watching trashy television, to find things exactly how I left them. This part of the job was not thoroughly explained to me by the Union Of Parents before I signed that contract in blood(y show). I’m quite upset about these poor working conditions.
Instead, I come back to mess and chaos, to 15 windows open on my computer, bouncing back and forth between them all, trying to figure out which fires are more important, or if the “fires” in my kitchen and laundry room should take priority.
It’s so tempting to say, “Nope. Still not better. Going to bed. Ignoring all of this FOREVER. The children will learn to feed and bathe themselves eventually. Email? Huh? What’s the internet?” But I know what I really need to do is power through, respond to no less than 10 pressing emails, write and write and write, organize tasks, make lists, prioritize, take ten thousand deep breaths.
Ugh. It all makes me sweaty and anxious. I have a headache just thinking about it all. The sick day hangover is worse than being sick.