Okay, so I failed to file a daily report of my trip after day two. The wedding was nice. The little one's were good in general. The flight back home was absolute torture. It included an unexpected four-and-a-half-hour lay-over in the Atlanta airport. The delay put us back at home at 1:45 a.m. and me in my bed at 2:30 a.m. The only good that came out of it was the fact that my little one actually slept on the last leg of our journey home! I needed the "down time" on the flight after having spent over four hours trapped in an airport with a wide-awake toddler who should have already been tucked into bed. I think all the unforunate people who were trapped in the gate area with us were equally thankful that she slept on the flight. By the way she acted in the airport, running around half-crazed, "talking" to complete strangers, I'm sure most feared the worst, that she would be in full-blown toddler mode for the flight. The gas ran out of her tank not too long after take-off, and she snored peacefully for the flight home.

So, now I'm back to the daily drudgery. Taking a week off makes me realize that I hate my job. I can go for months at a time actually believing that I enjoy going into work, that I'm lucky because, for the most part, I actually enjoy what I do for a living. Then, I take a vacation, and I realize work sucks, I've been deluding myself along. How long must I wait until the mind-numbing bureacracies of my daily life finally brain wash me again into a sense of fulfillment?