Allow me to rant. Thanks.
Do you know I've been trying to read The Memory of Running by Ron McClarty for, like, many, multiple weeks? Many. And it's a GOOD book? So why is it taking so long to read? I don't have a lot of reading time anymore. By the time I get home from work, it's already an hour later than before the commute from The Middle started, then we argue for a half hour over what to eat for dinner, before taking another hour to make dinner, and then by the time all is cleaned up, put away and Tiger Woods PGA Tour 2007 is emanating from the television screen, it's 8:30, and by the time I pick up the book to read it, I fall asleep mid-sentence before I can turn the page.
What if I want to come home from work, heat up some Spaghettios and curl up with my book for the entire night? What if? I vote "NO" to responsibility, man. And when do The Cats start feeding themselves? And cleaning their own litterbox? And what the hell am I going to do when I have children?
Furthermore, I'm tired. SO tired. What with keeping myself up coughing and nose-blowing, and watching The Fiance sleepwalk (swear to God), there's not much good sleep going on. I find myself falling asleep at the wheel. On the way HOME.
I'm also over not being able to taste my food and breathe through my nose. I want to run. And function like a human, without running out of energy by walking across the room. I don't want to blow my nose anymore. And I want The Fiance to stop looking at me like, "I'm SO sure you've been sick for a week. God."
I'M SICK. I HAVE NO ENERGY. CAN'T THE WORLD JUST LEAVE ME BE SO I CAN READ A BOOK?
OK, thanks. I feel better now.