Sometimes you have to make a choice between home and work. On Thursday, partially out of guilt because I don't choose it often enough, I picked home. I was needed there. I was expected at work. I'll pay for it on Monday, I know. I needed to address some things urgently and I did. But I'm not looking forward to my boss's anger, disappointement, coldness or just plain lashing out.
Well, when I made the decision, I agreed to deal with the consequences, unpleasant as they might be.
I've not had a nice weekend.
I've had a weekend filled with anxiety.
I read "The Beach".
I watched "The Guardian".
I gave a present I had so carefully chosen and wrapped.
My son got a haircut.
Loukhi got neutered.
It's not always simple and easy, is it?
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