Today I got a call back about a job.
Another job. Not a job to replace the full-time job, but a job to supplement the income of the first job.
I don't really want a second job. Not really. But I feel like I need one.
Well, really? I feel like I need someone to give me a bunch of money and say, "Here you go. Sorry about all that" and then I can pay off that bitch Sallie Mae and sleep in on Saturday mornings.
But that's not going to happen.
I'm so unmotivated. Dreary. Blah.
I'm not excited about writing the book I'm under contract to write. I've started making efforts towards research and I'm feeling rather glum about it. I don't know why and I'm pissed at myself for feeling this way. All I've ever wanted it to be a published author. This will make me a published author. I should be rushing to get it completed.
But I'm not.
I feel like I need a vacation from my life.
I HATE feeling like this. I hate being such a whiner. I hate feeling sorry for myself. I hate this.
I tried to get the children to tell me jokes this morning so I wouldn't scream at people on the roadways. Here is what Boy Child told me:
Q: What do you call a pig who can do karate?
A: Pork chop!
Anyone got a better one that that?