Stream of Consciousness Before Running Off to the Cheesehouse

Don't like to go to work.
Wish I could stay home.
Won't do this again next year.
Too much stress.
People can be so mean.
And confused.
And confusing.
It's not worth it,
no matter how much it would pay.
It's not right to trade Christmas for money.
I haven't baked cookies.
I haven't made candies.
Bo and I were up until 1:30 wrapping presents.
He asked if I feel better (than what? more on that later) after wrapping presents.
I don't.
This has been one of the most disheartening Christmasses ever.
I don't know if I spelled "Christmasses" correctly.
Our advent calendar isn't even half done.
We didn't read any Christmas stories.
We didn't go caroling.
Three of the kids have been sick.
The baby had a fever for five days.
I haven't caught it yet.
Neither has Bo, Monet or Bard.
Will we be sick for Christmas?
I still have presents to make and buy.
I still have no money and no time.
Our tree is up.
Some of our decorations are up.
My house is a mess.
There are no groceries in the fridge, which really needs to be cleaned.
Good thing: Bard cleaned the kitchen and piano room yesterday.
There had been HUGE cobwebs on the ceiling.
She also did five loads of laundry. Maybe more.
I took her to Wal*Mart.
We bought wrapping paper and Christmas cards.
She made me laugh a lot, because that's how she is. Very funny.
Funny, funny Bard.
I have to go.
I don't want to.
But I have to.
God bless us. Every one.