Yuck... it's Monday. I hate Mondays. I woke up today in a beachfront condo that my husband and I were housesitting for the weekend. I peered out the window, well actually it was a four panel sliding glass door overlooking the Pacific Ocean, and decided that I was going to call in sick, but instead I slam some Advil (thanks to the double shot of Absolute and 6 beers the night before, I have a headache) and force myself to shower, put makeup on and dress in some sort of work attire.

I always have a facination with calling in sick. At least one day a week, I want to throw the f-ing alarm clock out the window, pull the covers over my head and not live in reality. The thought of somehow cheating my way out of a work day gives me goose pimples. To roll out of bed without being prompted by the screaming box of hell and sit my ass on the couch and watch as much of the "Today" show as I can stand would be a dream come true.

I am a sick, sick person. My biggest fantasy is sitting in my pj's and eating breakfast knowing that everyone else is at work? This is what happens when a person grows up and realizes that their destiny is to live the life of the working schmuck.

By definition of society, I am sucessful. I am married, have a "good" job, own a house and invest in an IRA and 401k, but seriously, is this it?

I know, I can see my writing and I come across as a complete bitch.

There's not enough time in life to do everything! It's so frustrating. I feel like I have to chose between having a family;

or... being selfish by spending time with my husband and backpacking across the world,

or... being recoginzed professionally for my accomplishments,

or... working my ass off and having enough money to retire and really live the "good" life.

I don't want to look back and think, "damn, I should have done (insert anything remotely interesting)." Rather, when I'm so old that I can't remember if I've vacumed the house in the last month, I want to recollect all the adventures in my lifetime, which will bring a wry smile to my otherwise wrinkled face.

Maybe I need to take a deep breath and know that I've come pretty far and experienced many things for being the ripe old age of 25. Or maybe I just need to face the fact that my life is turning out is pretty damn good.

Yea, I think that's a bunch of horse-shit.

Comfort, content, satisfied and happy "where I'm at" are notions that kid a person into believing that nothing better exists for them. I don't ever want to be the 300 pound mom cheering on her kids at a t-ball game between eating 5 hotdogs (not that there's anything wrong with that).