And so, dear friends, what's left of my brain is mine again. Today was the first day of school. The house is quiet and I am once again left to my own devices.
Shoot.
We spent the last week buying back-to-school supplies. It's unfortunate there are no back-to-work supplies.
Men in their 40s can't buy plastic pencil cases with their cool, plasticy smell. We can't buy a 24 pack of crayons with their cool, crayony smell. Well, we can, but people would talk.
Let's face it. Back-to-school supplies are neat. Pencils. Erasers. Binders. Folders. Rulers. Pens. It's all cool.
But we who are going back to work get nothing. Oh well.
Tell you the truth, I'd love to be going back to school. I'd love to have someone stand in front of me and tell me exactly what I needed to be doing.
"No, Paul. You can read the Drudge Report during recess. Now you need to be writing that scene. Sit up straight. Later on we're going to have a fireman come in and tell us about his work. Then we'll have nap time. Then we'll make things out of Ivory Soap. Then you can go home and play."
Ahhhh. If only...
I'm pretty sure those personal trainers who come to your house and tell you, "don't eat that" could also be paid to tell you when to do your work.
ReplyDeleteAll you have to do for that sort of life is to be declared a loony.
ReplyDelete...officially, I mean.
I'm halfway there then. Nyahaha! *arm flails*
ReplyDelete