Party like it's 1945

Sometimes I wish it were 1945. Not because things are so complicated. They're really not. Not because I'm a conservative. I'm not. Not because I would enjoy a good fireside chat. Boring.

But because then I could stay home instead of going to work.

I love my job. I do. It's challenging. I love the people I work with. I love what I do, and I want to keep doing it for a long time.

But sometimes, mostly on Sundays (because Sundays are the devil), I want to stay home, clean the kitchen, vacuum, and do laundry. Sometimes I WANT to do these things.

I also would like to be able to go home whenever I wanted to. Like at Christmas. I have one vacation day, and one "floating holiday." Christmas is on a Sunday. I have to go to Mom and The Stepdad's. Then Dad and The Stepmom's. Then The Fiance's parents' house. Then his other side of the family. And I wanted to see my grandparents, not to mention my friends back home, and in Toledo. But I can't. 12 hours from here to Cincinnati. Three-and-a-half hours from Cincinnati to Mom. An hour and 15 minutes from Mom to Toledo. 8 hours from Toledo to Wisconsin. Three days. Three. Days.

I would hate a lot of things about 1945. I would hate the war. I would hate the conservatism. The open prejudices. The rules. The restrictions on women. I bet I would even be one of those women who would fight to have the right to go to college, to have a "man's" job, for a "man's wages." I would be that girl.

But now that I have those rights, the great, noble fight is over. And I just want to go home. After tomorrow, I'll feel better. If I could put Mondays, Michigan and money problems in a box and then blow it up, I'd be happy. (That's not a threat. Just a literary illustration. I don't like loud noises, and I'm not particularly into the whole "getting in trouble with the law" thing.)

Even if those things did disappear, I suppose I'd just hate Tuesdays. Dang.