The 9 to 5 is sucking my soul.

Today I had to work late 'cause I stole a couple of hours this morning to look after Seb. As I sat at my desk, typing away, exacerbating the tendinitis in my hand, I though: Dear lord, how have parents managed this? It is killing me. I don't have any cool left. I am angry. I don't want to be here. I want to be at home with my beautiful son, watching him laugh and learn new things. I. Hate. This.

I really wonder how on earth generations have managed this, but then again, it hasn't always been this way, has it? I guess there are alternatives. We could work on the farm. We could live simply, together, in a birth control free brood of extended family and numerous animals. We could join a commune and let twigs collect in our hair while we ate grass and talked about universal love. Problem. Farms usually have piles of sh*t and don't tend to pay well. Next, I really hate fleas, so numerous animals are out of the question. As for the commune, I think my description speaks for its self.  Still, there has got to be a better way than shipping mom out the door every day to the cold dungeon that is my office. (I literally work underneath a morgue, doesn't get much more morbid than that!)