Sitting in a damp, garage, at my plywood desk that gives me slivers every time I run my arm across it,
Listening to old men swear
Drinking a cup of too dark tea, with artificial sugar but no spoon to stir it with
Getting a headache from the insanely loud jobsite noises going on just outside my office
No phone to call out with
No motivation to work harder
All the while, wishing my days were filled with baby kisses, singing songs, long walks an play dates.
My time would be much better spent enriching the mind of a growing child, than losing mine in a dark, damp garage, with dark tea and artificial sugar and a headache from all of the noises.