Again I find myself at work, late, trying to get stuff done. 9am meeting, a quick run to the art supply store... a Wendy's cheese burger for lunch.
My mom called, wondering when I was going to send her the shoes and shirts she wanted from the employee store. I told her I would do it tommorrow, I even wrote it on a post-it note...stuck to my monitor.

Shelby is sick again, Cameron is sick again, and Monica is sick again. Monica woke me up at 4am to tell me that she felt awful... and that watching the kids would be "extra-burdonsome". This was an unveiled attempt to get me to commit to something in the haze of sleep, an attempt to get me to say, "I'll stay home, while you sleep." But I couldn't say that, of course, so I went back to sleep.

I just called Monica. She sounded extra-pathetic - kinda wheezy, with the: "Is that you? - Come closer to my deathbed so I can see you" tone.

I pretended not to notice, "Do you need me to pick anything up on the way home?"

"Milk...
Bread...
Toilet paper...
and something to cook for dinner."

She went on to tell me that since she was couch-ridden, and there were three kids home all day, the house is in bad shape.

I don't wanna go home and deal with all of this crap. It will be after 7:00 before I get home. 8:15 by the time we are done eating...then it's homework, bedtime for the kids, dishes...garbage night, and I need to do some laundry. I hate nights like this.
But I better go home and get started.

"Fishsticks sound good and quick."