Roseanne?

I am neglecting this blog and not by choice.  My life, despite working only part-time, is chaotic at best.  I feel like a hamster on a wheel.  Racing, racing, racing and getting nowhere fast.  Tis also the season where my children's lives take over.  It's not a matter of over scheduling.  Each child is in one activity and that's enough to tip the scales in dramatic fashion.  Today in and of itself will be a balancing act by day's end.

Yesterday I made a little road trip and listened to the radio on the way home after enjoying some classic Elton John on the way there.  And I happened to be listening to a country station.  Don't judge.  I'm just as likely to listen to Eminem or Jimmy Buffet or Ray Charles; depending on the day.

Anyway I was listening to this song that is actually pretty good.  I really like one specific part at the end.  Then I got pissed.  Because the message of said song is: we don't have a lot of money but we have love and that's all we really need.

Fuck off.

I love each and every person in this house more than I can possibly put into words but oddly enough, love doesn't actually pay bills.  Try as I might, the phone company is not moved by my fierce love for each of my children.  And I'm sure my husband and I could perform a...ahem, 'demonstration' of our love for one another right in the middle of the grocery store and I think all that's going to get us is arrested.  For a number of things, including blinding patrons.  We love each other but we also love food.  Like McDonald's and anything sold at 7-11.  Brad and Angelina, we are not.  If I put on another hundred pounds or so the resemblance between us and Dan and Roseanne would be striking.

Speaking of which, a dear friend of mine often says I remind him of Roseanne.  In attitude and life alone, not physically.  Otherwise we would not be dear friends.  And last night, that couldn't have been more true.  You see last night, I received a bit of training at work from a 16 year old boy.   For those of you familiar with Roseanne, remember when she worked at the chicken place and that high school kid was her manager?  It was like that.  Almost exactly.  Except this boy was nice and pleasant and meant well.  Oh, and my uniform is nicer.  And smaller.  Don't forget smaller.

I was angry.  Talk about swallowing your pride.  Which is probably why when discussing future plans with him and another adolescent male co-worker, I felt the need to throw out that I have a Bachelor's Degree.  Which what the fuck was the point of that?  Hey kids, this is where post-secondary will get ya'.

Fuck.

And despite my best efforts to keep my chin up?  It's starting to drag.  We still are not making enough money.  I really have doubts about returning to my previous field of work and whether or not I'll even be able to get a job in said field, but it may be a necessary evil in order to make these far reaching ends meet.

In the meantime I am trying my hand at anything and everything shy of prostitution and porn. Which is really only because I'm already tired and I'm not sure what my 'draw' would be.  Maybe free laundry service on top of, um, well... you know.   Or maybe I could organize something for them. Because I'm more of a homemaker at present than a porn star.  I feel I should clarify: I've always been more of a homemaker than a porn star. 

Much like Roseanne.