‘Stop calling it a vacation’

Warning: Meltdown ahead.

As Mom so eloquently said:

“You worked 55 hours last week … and did your other stuff … and didn’t sleep … and worked ahead … and worked while you were gone … and worked when you came back … and had to pack a lifetime into a weekday and a weekend day … would you stop even referring to that as a vacation?”

On top of it, when I booked the trip I was worried about Ebola. Honest to God I feel like I contracted it in the airport. I feel/look like hammered shit.

It’s probably the not-sleeping thanks to the overwork and the exposed nerve in the back of my mouth that has left my immune system helpless.

But while I’ve said a thousand times in my head that I am grateful for the mess that is my life that let me afford this small slice of something wonderful, if you look at it from Mom’s eyes, she’s right.

It’s bullshit that I have to kill myself to get what others are entitled to … that *I* am entitled to.

I’m going to be out again Monday. Maybe Tuesday. Haven’t decided. Either way it’s back to killing myself for one lousy day to myself.

And maybe after that I can get these damn wisdom teeth extracted. You know, in my copious amounts of free time.

Something has to give and I am really tired of it being me.

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