DOARS- Day 7- Doomed

 Dear Diary,

Will I ever wake up before the birds start chirping? Those noisy pests really get on my nerves, I mean who wants to wake up to that? Crazy people, that's who... and probably Robert Bruce and William Cumbitt.

I must say that although I went to sleep excited about working, I did not wake up so. In fact now I really don't want to go. I want to lounge around the house in my pajamas and do nothing. Well, obviously that's not going to happen. So I cleaned up a bit, hoping to get myself motivated to go into work. Rumor has it, I'm up for a promotion, you see. Both Monica and Agnes have been promoted out of the Toddler's coach position, and as two of my best friends, they've recommended me for the job. (Would that actually make them two of my worst friends since I don't want that job?) It really comes down to two things, would I rather throw food at sweaty, fanatic (and dare I say it, rabid) people, or chase a bunch of energetic toddlers? I honestly don't know. They both smell bad.

Speaking of smelling bad, I decided to add a bit to the world of stink by working out. I'm not entirely sure where this stereo came from, but I can work out from home now, so I'm not going to worry about the source of my new stereo too much. (And table and chairs- I mean I didn't go out to a furniture store to buy them or anything, they just showed up and the money was subtracted from my bank account. Weird.)

My laundry hamper was getting a little full, which obviously was not from my own clothing. However I wasn't going to get too upset about it, there were other things that I could get upset about, like oh how they advertised this dump as a cottage and I was suckered into buying it, and now not only is the wood rotting but so are my eyeballs. So as I did the laundry, that was really not my own, I grumbled and mumbled about sub-standard housing for future sports stars. I know that my story, rags to riches, could potentially inspire my future fans (including yourself, if you're reading this) but do I really have to live through it? I'm going to be prestigious, I'm already slightly famous, and I'm living in this? Ick. I don't even think it deserves to be called a house.

I hung the recently washed laundry and dragged myself to the carpool. I had this sick sinking feeling in the bottom of my stomach that I would come home and be doomed to toddler prison... or at least coaching the little buggers.

As I got out of the carpool, I held my head high and walked bravely into the building. I would accept this promotion with dignity and grace and no trace of fear or dread would show on my face.

Six hours later, I can't say that I was particularly graceful or dignified, but I wasn't completely trembling, either, so we'll call it a success.... despite the fact that I would be working with toddlers and not adults for the foreseeable future. It was a pretty terrifying prospect, as I'm sure you would imagine.

Now if you're sitting there thinking to yourself, "What is she complaining about, she's been working there for less than a week and she already got promoted twice, at this rate her days surrounded by toddlers will be very few, indeed."

Well, all I have to say to you, dear reader that would make such a remark, is this: One day with toddlers is an eternity, imagine two days, or potentially more. Before you ask if am I planning on having children, no, not really. So there, and if I do, I'm sure my toddlers won't be nearly as bad as the carnivorous monsters that roam the streets of Sunset Valley.

Feeling the need to release some of my mounting anxiety, I jogged home from work. It was nice and cool out.  However, when I got home all of my thoughts of toddlers and the dangers associated with them flew away and were replaced with astonishment.

My house really is a cottage now, how in the world did that happen?!?
I'm too exhausted from work and fear to think about it too much now, so I'm going to bed. Hopefully I'll wake up and it will all be clear, but we'll see. Also I need to remember to take a look at everything that's changed and come up with some sort of theory to explain it all.

The new confused master of toddler sports,

Lynn Winslow