The horrific confessions of a quitaholic

I'm hiding in my house, behind piles of chocolate, used tissues, and any old movie I can get my hands on. Nestled into a comfy chair, beneath a mound of cozy blankets, I'm drowning active thought with cold pills and good old Hollywood (cause who needs to think in tinsel town?) Somewhere, outside my happy bubble, children are foraging for food, bills are piling up, and pets are planning ambushes on the first fool to step through the door.

OK, first off, before I freak all my friends out and receive a flood of worried phone messages, I do have a cold, so drugs are justified. Second, I've quit.

Quit? you ask... Quit what?

Well, I'll tell you. The dishes weren't done, and the house was a wreck. I said 'Fire the maid.' Dinner, for the fifth time this week, was leftovers. I said, 'Fire the cook.' The kids were late to school and late being picked up... you guessed it. 'Fire the chauffeur.'

Except, nobody's listening, so I quit.

A few weeks ago, I made some ridiculous resolutions that four days afterward I was ready to repeal. Clean the house?!? Clearly I was under the influence of something that should be illegal. And read 52 books? To date, I've read one this year, which suggests I might (maybe, if I'm lucky) read a total of twelve before December 31st.

I quit.

Dieting. Yeah, right. Let's not go there.

So, as you see, it is official that I have quit all sense of responsibility, reason, fair play and... whatever else I can come up with that needs quitting, too. I will no longer respond to the name MOM or any of its affiliates. As soon as I get a lawyer, I intend to make this legal. I am hereafter to be thought of as the innocent bystander without connection to anyone or anything, with absolutely NO responsibilities.

I'm going to bed, I will wake up whenever I feel like it and not fix up the covers. I will eat whatever I wish, and not wash it up. I may or may not change any diapers, share any food, or settle any arguments, depending on my mood. If the cat keels over, chuck him over the fence. That goes double for the dog. As for the little people stomping around all over...

Oh, fine. I'll keep them. They are kind of cute. When they're quiet.
Hmmm.... cold medicine... yeessss.