Because I have worked too much and not had enough fun...

Being a responsible and together grown-up sucks sometimes. Not on payday, of course, when my bank account reflects my strong work ethic and successes - and not after I have paid the bills and still have a good chunkachange left over.

Being a grown-up sucks when I want to spontaneously take a drive to Atlantic City, stroll the boardwalk, and watch the sun go down... and I can't, because there is a child to be picked up from daycare, dinner to be cooked, dishes and laundry, and several hours of work to be done in order to maintain my reputation.

Being a grown-up sucks when the alarm starts going off at 5 a.m., and I still need another 5 hours of sleep to feel fully rested.

Being a grown-up sucks when you have to deal with varied unsavory and uncouth grown-ups who squash every morsel of joy and happiness out of everyone and everything they encounter.

Call me disillusioned. I am. I am eagerly anticipating my summer vacation when my time will be my own, not dictated by an alarm clock (Tabby is technically NOT an alarm clock, although the argument could be made otherwise), not bound by the mandates of work (any work I do will be of my own volition). This all sounds horribly self-indulgent. You could make the case.

Frankly, it's been so long since I've written that I'm slightly constipated with emotional word sludge (ew, disgusting image!). I think I might need to start writing poetry again. Yeah, I should do that.

PS. I need to reclaim my inner happy.