Juan has gone to Grandma’s to
be worked like a rented mule help with yard work for the week, and I feel like I’m on vacation. What a terrible thing to say. Here, take my Mom Card, ‘k?
This song perfectly sums up how I feel about his generation:
I mean, really! Get a fucking job already!
Okay, sorry. I shouldn’t be yelling at my offspring. He’s a Grown Man and can make his own decisions and right now (obviously) he’s still searching for his Dream Job and he won’t take it until he’s absolutely sure it will fulfill his soul.
Wait. He’s a good kid. I should be happy that he’s not dead or in jail or on drugs or eating kittens for breakfast, right?
Sigh. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, really I don’t. I’m not wishing any of those things on him.
Mom picked him up yesterday at noon. For the first time in 18 months I went home to an empty house. Er…trailer. The cat greeted me with a chirp and the three of us had a delightful evening alone. I forgot how peaceful my life can be. I forgot how oppressive it can be living in such a tiny space with a person who is not a lover – I mean, I don’t even take my bra off until bedtime because it creeps me out, and that, my friends, is a crime!
No idea where this post was going, so I’ll sign off and get back to work.