ELIZA COME TAKE THIS CHILD I CANNOT HANDLE ANOTHER WEEK OUT OF WORK

I need to work. I need to smell ink and parchment. I need to have paper airplanes poking me in the side of the head as I take too long debating on whether or not I should take the lift or the stairs. I need to not have to change diapers be bored senseless in three hour long meetings about the weight an Eagle Owl should carry.

It has been a week. One week. Seven days. Eliza, come and take this kid-- I am so close to losing my mind that I decided to buy this journal in hopes that someone can keep me sane. I need to be sane.