As I slumped in the armchair tonight, after getting home from work at 6:30, I became almost giddy to realize that I do not have to work at all this weekend. No events to cover, nothing to write. I can't honestly say I got up and danced a jig or anything like that, but in my head I sure did.
And then, of course, I realized that the weekend is still two work days away. How is it I feel like I have already put in a full work week? Oh right, because I am spoiled by my habit of only working a few hours a week.
The extra money will be nice, of course, but all those hours otherwise engaged do take their toll upon the family dynamic. Weekends are ruled by a two-foot long to-do list, we are starting to realize what an empty fridge actually looks like, and housecleaning (admittedly never a major consideration) has been completely abandoned.
Mostly, though, I feel sorry for the Slightly Retarded Kitty. Last night the Spousal Unit had a work dinner so by the time I got home, the poor SRK had given up all hope of ever seeing human life ever again. She had moped herself into such a state that she didn't even want to go out, just stared listlessly out the window. She really misses her belly rubs on demand and her on call doormen.