Monsoon Poppy's flying circus

I have two little cartoon angels sitting on my shoulders even as we speak.

What do you mean, you can't see them? C'mon. You know them--the little devil has a gravelly Brooklyn accent, and the little angel has a high-pitched voice and talks like Eleanor Roosevelt.

Well, see, Eleanor would tell you that my life is wonderful and I am so blessed. And she would be right.

On the other hand, the little devil would tell you that my life is seriously overloaded with a lot of shit I don't want to do. And he would be right, too.

I'm talking about unglamorous Mommy chores, my gym gerbil Habitrail regime, and a ton of unpaid volunteer crap, all of which make my life a virtual compost heap of mouldering to-do lists. For example, today I:

Called up my son's camp to talk to the director about the way my son is being bullied;

Had a three-or-four round wrestling match with my fax machine. (I lost);

Went for my personal trainer session in the pool. Got into my swimsuit, showered down, slicked hair back with waterproofing gel, donned stretchy rubber swim cap; padded out to meet trainer. My trainer was not there and the pool was closed due to lightning. So I was soaking wet, couldn't go swimming, and didn't have any workout clothes with me. I had to climb back into my street clothes and drive home with my hair in a weird Jheri curl do;

Upon reaching home, I spent about an hour watering window boxes, transplanting plants, and re-watering everything again only to have the heavens open with Illinois's first recorded monsoon.*

Now, see, all this would be groovy if I were getting paid to do it.

But I have to do this kind of thing for free, which takes all the fun out of it.

* OK, I'm exaggerating. But only slightly.