I'm exhausted. The bad thing is that I have done nothing fun to make me exhausted. No out of the ordinary sex marathons, no marathons that include running, no marathons that include drinking...only work. And more work. And after that, yeah, there was more fucking work. I've never been so happy for Wednesday to come, even though I know I'll be at work at least 12 hours, at least it is halfway through the week.

While I'll never understand why people want children so badly, I do understand that what I'm experiencing in terms of feeling overworked and underpaid is nothing in comparison to having to take care of the creature you pushed out of your body. At least I can throw some food in a dish on the floor and take a nap (in regard to the animals, of course, the man can get his own damned food so I can take a nap). But...in terms of longevity and capability, a kid would be around long enough to learn how to make me dinner... Nah, I don't have the patience for that. Never mind that I would have to PUSH THE KID OUT OF MY BODY before it could learn anything.

Why am I rambling? Why am I asking myself questions? It's because I'm on the verge of the flu and have been working on too many projects in too short a time frame. If I don't make any sense, then just be glad that I won't be reproducing. I don't think the world is read for the antics and crankiness of a mini-Trish.

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