I am buried under vast heap of marking right now. It’s a normal condition of my job, but no one around here is too pleased about it. My poor husband has to come visit me in the kitchen where I’m toiling away, and Sherman finds good spots near me to sit, pace, or lie down while I grade essays and write feedback for my students.
I wish I had a way to explain to Sherman that ignoring him tonight is a necessary evil. I have carefully outlined the notion of “work” to him, and I’ve done my best to impress upon him that if I don’t have a job, none of us–even him–eat. Still, the mutt is glued to me, sighing melodramatically every so often, just in case I had a chance to forget how afflicted he is.
Poor baby. Believe me, I’d prefer to sit around and snuggle just as much as he would.
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