I Only Write About Work

As usual, for the first hour or so after getting home, I can't pry the Linus off of me. He's like the Little Engine that Could of jumping into my lap. Well, sort of.

I sent some text messages from work to various people. I thought I'd share them:

"We're singing Rascal Flatts today. Therapy is fun."

"I ask: What happened to your nose? Answer: It got zits on it."

"My job sometimes feels less like a job, more like the most absurd babysitting gig ever."