The Service Here Sucks But the Food is Good

This week I looked at the double sun I sketched out.  Yep.  I looked at it and dreamed of blue.  That is all.  I always struggle with the "my thing" time vs family time.  If I sit and watch a show I get this niggling feeling that I should be being more productive.  It sometimes feels like everyone around me is finding success at the stay at home mom/"your thing" gig and I'm all "Have you read my blog?"  "I sold 2 suns and a pack of notecards."

Then there was the day that I was cranky and I just didn't feel like doing anything but catching up on my shows and maybe some day drinking.  Problem was, it was a Tuesday.  Day drinking on a Tuesday feels more like a problem than a way to relax.  Plus, sitting there watching Top Chef and Downton Abbey, I can't help but feel like my time was being wasted.  I bet all those other successful people aren't sitting around day drinking and watching their shows.  Okay.  I didn't day drink, because it was a Tuesday, but still, I got caught up on my shows.  Then I waited until 4:00 for a drink, like a proper housewife.  A proper, yet, cranky housewife.

“Whiskey claims to itself alone the exclusive office of sot-making.” 
― Thomas Jefferson

  

My family.  It was my family that was making me cranky.  I hate to even say that out loud.  Here is the disclaimer.  I love these people.  I would kill for them.  I would die for them.  I'd even give them my good kidney and not the bad one filled with stones.  The good one.  But, they were all on my last nerve.  My husband, God bless him, couldn't say a damn thing right.  It started when he let the teenager off the homework hook.  Not his fault really, she played us.  Actually , it started way before then, might've been just that I rolled out on the wrong side of the bed.  The little guy, he acted like he was the king and we all worked for him because he was thirsty or whatever.  I don't know, the whole lot of 'em were bugging me.  Even sweet Daisy -and it wasn't even Daisy, really, it was her dog but she brought the little pooper over.  Poop.  Everywhere.  

Dinner came around and I was still pissy.  Husband and kids were scarce, getting out of the line of sight if you will.  I had yelled, slammed, stomped and even demanded Calgon to take me away.  So dinner was quiet and awkward.  Everyone was afraid to speak.  My husband, he is very brave, he whispered.  He whispered because I was the "Don't even look at me" kind of mad.  He said, "I know your mad, but I gotta say, this gravy...rockstar.  The meat, everything...it is very good."  Well shit.  There goes pissy right out the window.  Hard to come back from stomping around like a nut but, I'll make it up to him later. (wink, wink)  So seriously, the service here sucks, but the food is good.