It's 4:36 p.m. and I want a mother fucking drink. Seriously. I have visualized the sheer bliss of cracking open one of my husband's beers all day. All.damn.day.
So what if beer isn't my thing? Who cares that carbonation makes me sick? There is beer in my house, and I think drinking it will solve all my problems.
How much do I suck? Seriously...It hasn't even been a week since my last drink and I'm like a nymphomaniac on an island with no men, women or sex toys -- just a tree branch, and the branch is starting to look good.
Tonight scares me. I can't even pretend it doesn't. My sitter leaves at 5. My little one and I head out to a booze-free holiday party at 5:30. We'll be home by 8:30. Daddy will be at work until midnight. From now to 8:30, I have it handled. But what about 8:31 to midnight?
That's when I'll be confronted with the million-and-one things that haven't been done while I was working today: The dirty dishes, the meal planning, the holiday meal planning, the baking, the cleaning. And then juggling that with bath time, cuddle time and bed time. Never enough hours in the day but it all goes by so much faster when I have a drink in my hand.
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