Boring...

Holy crap.
Well, an update has been demanded, so Laura, this is for you.
Laura suggests that, since I feel unable to write about my life at home at the moment, I should write about work.
Hmmmm.
Work. Well, I have a job. And it's okay. I'm really lucky to have it. It provides considerable security and benefits. And if I didn't show up, nobody woud notice because things I do are ultimately unimportant...
BUT!!! Yes! There is a but. But I have friends at work, and THAT is wonderful. Because of that, I enjoy going to work. I look forward to it. Strange, huh? I go to work, and I talk to my friends, and I become involved in everyone else's lives and don't have to worry about my own. I offer advice (probably way too much of it) and I chat and I expound on the mysteries of the universe and debate whether poker is really gambling (incidentally, Mark, there are two syllables in that word, not three! And 5 - 6 - 5 does not a haiku make!) or not.
I say it is.
Ahem.
Oh! And while I'm at work, my children learn and speak French and eat sand and are happy little monkeys.
Except for one thing. Every day, I go to work and I have this feeling of expectation. Like something big or wonderful or meaningful is going to happen. I sit at my desk and do my work and wait. I pause often, staring at the window, and think about that nagging feeling of expectation, and wonder why it's there. Then, at the end of the day, a feeling of disappointment comes over me and I think, "that's it?"
I can't explain it. Maybe it's always there, but I don't have time to notice it at home. It's busy around here, what with all the noisy children and all.
Anyhoo.
In closing, I would like to say that I'm thankful for work.
And apologize for my lack of interesting things to say.