Work Vs. Family Time

I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a miserable jerkoff. When I’m at work, I’m aggravated that I’m not able to spend time with my family. When I’m spending time with my family, I inevitably end up fantasizing about the quiet misery of work. My typical trains of thought are as follows:

At Work

“What the fuck? I have no idea why the fuck I even bother coming here. I’m eating rice and beans for lunch for the next fucking three days because I have the financial planning skills of a chimp in community college. I fucking hate this place. I don’t make any money, I want to choke slam 90% of the people here and I miss my fucking family. I would kill to be at home right now, on the couch, cuddling with everybody while these dildoes at work talked their simpleton gibberish to no one in particular. I fucking hate these people. Almost every day, I fantasize about being seriously hurt at work so I can hang out at home, eat Percocets and watch Goonies with Jaime and the kids. Maybe I’ll take a shit for the next 45 minutes, then it’ll be lunch ti…but of course I got fucking rice and beans again. Fuck. God, I would suck some smelly dick for some hot cheese right now. I swear to God if my boss calls another friggin’ end of day meeting and makes me get out of here late, I’m gonna shit in her Thermos and throw her fuckin’ family picture out the window like a fuckin’ boomerang.”

At Home

“Every second that I’m with Jaime and the kids, I feel like I’m conducting a press conference. Do the fucking questions ever stop? Christ. I said we are going to the park, not to the fucking Congo. Just put your fucking shoes on and get into the car. And of course nobody can ever find their shoes. I feel like these kids have access to a time portal where they enter another dimension just to take their shoes off then come right back to now. And would it kill these kids to watch a show that isn’t a half hour of screaming tweens? I swear to God, if I make dinner tonight and one of them asks for waffles, I’m getting in the car and not looking back. I’m gonna live off of Budweisers and hot dogs for the rest of my life. I’ll have a heart attack at the age of 40 and when they’re reviewing my medical records to notify family of my impending death, I’ll overhear them say, ‘Oh wait. Says here he has a wife and 3 kids who wouldn’t ever leave him the fuck alone. Let’s just put a pillow over his face and let him enjoy silence while he enters the afterlife.’ And I’ll just smile and nod. Oh shit. Look who found his shoes. Christ almighty, Monday can’t come quick enough.”

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