My boss just asked me if I could work night instead of morning on Friday the 21st. There really wasn't anyone else to do it, so I said OK, but I am sad about it. We're going to my grandma's house on Saturday for Yom Kippur and I really wanted to drive to town after work on Friday and have Saturday during the day to hang out. Working Friday night (during football season, yipes!) until 1:30 a.m. and then turning around and getting up on Saturday morning to drive to Kent and then going to a very, very late dinner at the least child-proof place on the planet is not my idea of fun.
Sometimes, its really nice to live near family. Other times, I wish we didn't have to go to this stuff. I guess my sense of duty wins again. I really do like some of my family. And I'm getting better at not letting the other ones give me ulcers. Deep breath. It's only one night. It's the worst night of the year, and I've managed to avoid going for the last EIGHT years. I can suck it up just this once. Right?
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