I’ve spent the past three, maybe four—who’s counting?—days at this point, trying to fix my website. For some reason, I’m the web developer. Always have been. I’ve tried to hire it out; at times I’ve had team mates who help me hobble along, but when the code breaks (and let’s face it, I’m usually the one who broke it), it’s up to me to fix it.
I want to send out an Easter Egg-stravaganza email. We’ve got three bundles that are springtime and cute and I have a vision for how the website should look and by golly, I keep thinking that the right code solution is just around the corner. But it’s evading me. Like a spritely Easter bunny devilishly hiding his eggs, blast that rabbit.
So the email hasn’t gone out.
Today, I picked up the kids from school, and I was on edge. Not only is the website driving me bonkers, I’ve been facing a difficult relationship situation for going on a year. I try not to take it out on the kids—that’s flat out wrong, in my opinion. Just because I’m struggling gives me no right to snap at them—but I’ve snapped, several times in these past three (four?) days of springtime code-a-palooza.
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