It's back to work tomorrow for us Proletariate DoocheNozzles.
Return to early mornings and hectic rushing to get two wee lassies fed, watered and ready for school. Making pony tails, quick and nasty breakfasts, ensuring they're wearing clean knickers with no skids, making and packing nuturitional and inventive lunch boxes, feeding the dog and cat, making beds, packing school books and relevant sports gear in a separate bags, separating bickering girls, packing my gym bag in between nagging for hair and teeth to be brushed.
Return to getting all the bags are packed into the car, it usually looks like I'm packing to go away for a fucking camping weekend with a boot full to the brim! Then it is time to get the dog rounded up and inside, before I locate my house keys and put the house alarm on.
Return to the idling car where I drive to School #1 to drop off Girl #1, drive to School #2 to drop off Girl #2. This is usually when I realise that I've left something at home.
It's almost 98.82% guaran-fuckin-teed that I leave at least ONE thing at home. One important item that I can't do without during the day and that I'll have to turn around and go back home for.
It's generally my phone, my pursue or keys for my office.
And all that before 8am!
Return to my hotbox that is my wee office, my desk, crappy office tea. Switching on my computer that fell of the ark and checking my hundreds of emails, which normally takes me at least half the day to sort through after being away for such a long time.
No more lounging by the pool with a glass of wine, no more watching endless crappy TV series programmes by the dozen, no more pointless outings to the shops just because I get to oogle pretty shoes I can't afford. No more running around in my undies and vest tops with no shoes and no bra.
There is ONE consolation to all of this.
My Wonder Woman of-a-domestic-worker returns to work tomorrow. Can you say Whoooohooo with me? Woooo Fucking Hooooo!!!
That means, I no longer have to do daily loads of laundry, clean floors, wash walls, do dishes, tidy rooms, disinfect toilets, sweep, dust, pack away endless piles of toys and dirty clothes.
My three week's worth of year-end holiday is: Work away from Work.
So, I return with a heavy heart to sitting in front of teeny tiny 17" crappy computer monitor for seven hours a day with a broken mouse. Puting up with ringing phones, droning of ancient air-conditioners in the passage, endless requests from irrate clients, ten Sales Reps and one Sales Manager.
I have vowed that this year I'm not breaking my back. I won't earn any Noddy Badgets. I won't get any Extra Bonuses. I won't get any afternoons off just for the hell off it. I won't get paid for overtime. No pats on the back or genuine smiles.
It's true, hard work never killed anybody, but I figure, why take the chance?