Again, exhausted.

I could very easily try and pretend that I am not the person who sits at home this Friday night and blogs about some ungodly injustice done to me during my workday. But I'm over it. I am that girl tonight. I am totally exhausted, but I can't sleep yet. It's still too early. Although I'll regret it in the morning when my baby wakes up early and comes in to get me up.
I'm pretty sure this is how people go from adolesence to old person without that middle age youth in between. They have a child. Or several. But for me, it's only one. And it turns out that I love him a whole lot. Which means that aging is now partially tolerable, and I can somehow talk myself out of feeling bad for not having exercised today, or whatever the thing I didn't do is at the moment.
I have reached a new understanding of something this week. One: I do not want to work with two year olds. Two: Migranes are worse than childbirth. Three: It isn't worth it to stay at a job that 1) gives you migranes and 2) harbors children that follow you around screaming and crying and flapping their arms like birds while you tell them to scream and cry but do it in the opposite area of the room from where you are so that your head doesn't pop open and spill guts everywhere like an over ripe pumpkin because you are sure at this point that your head is twice the size it was an hour ago and it must be filled with goopy bloody pulsating goodness that surely isn't a working brain.
Yes, I quit my job.
Yes, I will never try and teach two year olds for a living again. Especially not for nine hours a day.
Whew. It already feels better just saying something. It's over. The End.