January 14: Reality Sets In

I'm watching The Antiques Roadshow with my daughter right now.  It's a little past 8 p.m., and my son has been in bed for about an hour.  I'm looking at the clock on the wall, thinking, "I'm going to dragging my ass out of bed about eight hours from now."  My Coke Zero is waiting in the fridge, and my clothes are laid out on the washer in the bathroom.  I can't fight the inevitable.

I will return to work tomorrow morning.  I will be tired.  I will be cranky.  When the alarm goes off at 4 a.m., I will groan, turn it off, and mutter, "You have got to be kidding me."  (Actually, I will probably add a few more colorful words in there.  However, this blog is PG-rated.  Maybe PG-13 on a bad day.)  Then, I will crawl over my sleeping wife and slip back into my normal life of work-teach-work-home-bed.  Repeat until dead.

Reality sets in for Saint Marty.

I know how he feels

October 9: Home, Home, Home Body

"I have come to bring you home, dear brother!" said the child, clapping her tiny hands, and bending down to laugh.  "To bring you home, home, home!"

I have had one of those days where I wish, when the alarm clock went off this morning, I would have turned it off, rolled over, and gone back to sleep.  All I've wanted to do all day is go home, home, home as Fan says to a young Ebenezer in the above passage.  I'm kicking myself for not stopping at the local gas station this morning and picking up a 52 ounce cup of Coke Zero.  That would have given me a little more fuel for the day.

However, I did not do that, and now I am paying the price.  I'm tired.  I didn't even have time this morning to type my normal post.  It's just been non-stop, tedious work.  I want this day to be o-v-e-r.  I'm not even feeling particularly creative this afternoon.  The extent of my wisdom from Charles Dickens today is this:  Fan was right.  Go home.  Stay home.  Be a home body.

Those are words Saint Marty can live by, especially today.

Couch potato sounds good to me!