Work is called work

Last week was a rough week at work for me. And the week before that. And most likely the week before that but my memory doesn't go that far back. In my mind this is due to a number of things:

• People are mean
• I've had very little to do
• Uncomfortable situations- one after another.
• I've been sitting at my desk alllll dddaaaayyy looooong. And I'm NOT a desk person.
• Managers that stress me out.

Last Friday when they were doing the driveway I went home at lunch to check on the status of things (yes, that's the Project Manager in me coming out) and I was in a terrible mood so I changed out of my work clothes and started doing housework and yardwork determined that I will not go back to work! You can't make me! Well at about 1:45 the rebel in me wore off and I went back to work. Kicked my heels around for the afternoon. And left work at 4:45. Don't tell on me, please.

I was telling a co-worker friend of mine about this grouchyness and he said, "yeah, sometimes we forget that it's called work for a reason." Guh. Humility check.

Here I am, singing...
There's gotta be something better than this,
There's gotta be something better to do.
And when I find me something better to do,
I'm gonna get up, I'm gonna get out
I'm gonna get up, get out and do it!
There's gotta be some respectable trade,
There's gotta be something easy to learn.
And if I find me something I halfwit can learn,
I'm gonna get up, I'm gonna get out
I'm gonna get up, get out and learn it!...
(Sweet Charity. Never seen it. But love the music.)

complaining about grass being greener on the other side of the fence, so to speak. What is the other side? I have no idea. If you have a brilliant thought let me know. Aaaanyway... the picture for me is a little less dirt v. grass and a little more...

Green grass v. greener grass. Not as bad as my woeful songs and unending complaints let on.

On a different but related note: In my experience, privacy fences don't work well with dogs. They just go CRAZY because they can't see what's on the other side of the fence. My poor sweet pooch who is usually just a big sweet playful lug goes nuts-o on my inlaw's privacy fence. He chews on the wood and foams at the mouth. It's crazy and scary. So Mack-a-poo and I have a lesson to learn together: be content on our own side of the fence.

And work is called work for a reason.