I really didn't. But I should be.
I am not looking this paperwork in the eye. I want to hide my computer under the bed, I want to remove any evidence of textbooks and vocabularly lists, I want to wrinkle into a world where I've already done this work and the checks are in the mail. It feels like busy work, it feels like punishment, it feels like making a seven-course meal that will go straight onto the compost heap. I have such a difficult time linking what and when I am paid with this portion of my job: BECAUSE I HATE IT. (I didn't think that was clear yet.)
Like, I'd rather do filing right now and I really hate filing.
It wouldn't be that bad if I could just dash it out, but, nope, I get all caught up in how it needs to sound publishable. Which is ass. But not ASS. Because that continues to be part of my problem. Whenever I go to meetings it seems like I'm the only one who is loo-loo about this to this degree, but the emperor has no clothes, people!
At least I'm getting things in the mail like a red popcorn popper and really good towels and artwork.
Altlhough I must admit those things are not helping me concentrate.
Oh, you already know what this post is going to be all about: how my relatives just magically add numbers to their RSVP no matter how many were actually invited.
This has been the one traditionally stressful wedding planning element that has surfaced and it is irritating. But mostly because, geh, who wants to make those phone calls? Especially when such a phone call is a follow up to "we hope it's not too late; there will be ten of us."
That semi-colon is all my doing; there's no freaking way that the uncle who left it would have been that...okay, maybe it is time to backtrack.
Nah, that cured me of all invective.
Our wedding is going to FREAKING RULE!