Because Sally Struthers Was Busy

Due to a recent flare-up of Ennuitis-Shit-For-Brains Syndrome, I was roped in to chairing the silent auction at the Fall Festival at the kids' school. What this means, roughly translated, is I was responsible for doing every fucking thing except complaining about the results. Well, except for picking up 3 items. 3 items out of 100+. The evening went well, we made a decent amount of money, I only had to be physically restrained to prevent bloodshed twice, and if I ever find the person who told me that 'It won't be that much work, you'll have a lot of support!', I'm going to auction off their spleen next year.

Yes, I said next year. Unfortunately, my disease is chronic, there is no cure, and there is little chance at my having a normal life. A normal life where I'm not sleeping under a pile of to-do lists, where my children don't get catfood instead of Cheerios in their cereal bowls because I've only had 3 hours of sleep in the past 2 weeks and the phone isn't permanently grafted to the side of my face and dear god why can't I just say no and don't bother me can't you see I'm busy and where the HELL ARE MY SHOES I HAVE TO GO.

Now, remember I said little chance. There is a glimmer of hope for sufferers of this horrific disease (which, at this point and from here on out includes ... myself ... and that's about it), and that glimmer is you. Well, you and money. I'm starting a most-definitely-for-profit foundation to buy me games, books, movies; whatever it takes to keep myself occupied and the hell away from any and all volunteer-driven events within a 25-mile radius. I accept money orders, cashier's checks, and well-concealed cash.

Don't expect any thank you cards, receipts, or photographs of the poor soul you're sponsoring.

I'm just too damn busy.