I really thought having a 9 to 5 was going to be a lot different. I thought that finally I would be able to get my feet back on the ground and start being that mom my kids deserve. I thought that magically everything would fall into place. Boy was I wrong!
(You have to understand that I haven’t worked this kind of job in 4 years and that was only for a few months after over 7 years in the military. So this version of ‘Average American’ is completely foreign to me)
I quickly discovered that 9 to 5 doesn’t actually mean 9 to 5. It means 8:30 to 5-ish, depending on what kind of lunch break you take. Add 2 kids and a BF who goes on a completely different work schedule and I have absolutely no idea what end is up anymore. I’m now expected to somehow prepare 3 meals a day, wash/dry/fold laundry for 4 people, clean the entire house
I hate cleaning more than anything, read stories, balance check books, bath minions, change batteries in every toy imaginable, actually put the laundry away where it belongs which never happens, take the trash out, take minions to/from daycare/school, and clean some more.
My day starts at 6am and ends at 11:30 at least 5 days a week and that’s not even taking time to myself to do much of anything else. This means that my DVR is backing up with unwatched shows, the list of ‘books to read’ is so long I can’t even remember half of them, or blog,and its been at least 3 months since I last had to switch out my vibrator batteries for the remote control ones. Instead it all pretty much waits for Sundays when the tv is on from sunrise to sunrise (yes, I said sunrise twice), the Sunday paper gets flipped through mindlessly, I cry as I look back on my sad excuse for blog stats for the last week, and BF is cowering in a corner because the overly horny version of me won’t stop humping his leg every time the minions leave the room.
In these past few months of having a ‘real’ job I have lost all ability to compose anything funny that’s longer than 140 characters, and have no idea how one person is expected to not lose their mind as their other half lives in a parallel universe called the nocshift. Days in my new world seem to come and go in a blur as I start to feel like I see the minions and BF less and less every day of every week. Suddenly mounds of laundry threaten to eat my cats and the sugar ants attempt to carry away my dishes. Hair balls are constantly mistaken as rodents and the mold in the shower has started taking chorus lessons so it can keep me company in the morning.
Pretty sure I have become a bit delirious and cry more often than should really be allowed outside the confines of a mental institution. But I know all this shall pass as I
somehow get used to this ‘new’ role of mine. I know that eventually the daily rocking in a corner and desire to wear a straight jacket will go away and be replaced by a good book and my vibrators once again. But until then I will continue to attempt to fold laundry with my mind and pretend that 5 hours of sleep each night really is enough to keep someone sane enough not to sell their children to the lowest bidder.
All I have to say is, this 9 to 5 shit is for the birds!