There are so many things I could write about today. Perhaps a Yet More WTF? Crap I found in the Sunday Coupons, or the death of Billy Mays (really, can random celebrities just stop dying now? I miss actual news, and we know it is all about me), or the funny thing(s) my sons say or do.
But I’m unnecessarily grumpy.
No reason. No full moon. No PMS attempting to steal my soul. No stress upon stress.
Grumpy that no matter how much I do, there’s more there for me.
Grumpy that no matter how much I read, there are more books waiting for me to devour.
Grumpy that no matter how hard I work, my reward is more work to do.
I appreciate all the blessings in my life, I really do, but it’s Sunday afternoon, and I want nothing more than to sit on my back porch and read a book. Or watch the boys play. Or just do nothing at all.
I’m trying to get the urgent things done, but everytime I sit down to work, I HAVE A CROWD OF LITTLE BOYS AND A DOG PRACTICALLY IN MY LAP AND IT AIN’T WORKIN’ FOLKS!
Oh. Wait. I think I discovered why I’m so grumpy.