Sunday, April 24, 2005
Sometimes I'm really jealous of my husband. JP bikes a mile to work every morning, dressed in jeans and some hip, ironic t-shirt (think Monchhichis - yes, there really are three "h"s), toting a backpack and his iPod. He really, really likes his job. And they like him.
His workplace has foosball tables, free coffee and lots of cartoon characters. He sometimes takes 20 minute bathroom breaks. Don't ask me how I know this.
JP takes an improv class, which, of course, he loves, because he's brilliant at it.
When he gets home, Ronan dances in excitement. The two of them rush off to kick a ball or play trains. I attempt to restore a sense of sanity to the house and get a meal onto the table by 6:30. Or I slouch at the table and aimlessly surf the web, unable to override my exhaustion.
I think about taking a class, a part-time job, a regular night out. I need to stop thinking.
His workplace has foosball tables, free coffee and lots of cartoon characters. He sometimes takes 20 minute bathroom breaks. Don't ask me how I know this.
JP takes an improv class, which, of course, he loves, because he's brilliant at it.
When he gets home, Ronan dances in excitement. The two of them rush off to kick a ball or play trains. I attempt to restore a sense of sanity to the house and get a meal onto the table by 6:30. Or I slouch at the table and aimlessly surf the web, unable to override my exhaustion.
I think about taking a class, a part-time job, a regular night out. I need to stop thinking.
Comments:
Post a Comment
