My job

I love my job, and most of the time when I go to conferences I get renewed, refreshed and ready to go back and fight the good fight. So far this week it just isn't working. It is depressing me. I see pictures of dead children and want to throw up, go home, hug my own and never let them out of the house again. I should want to help that child's mother. I just want to do my damndest never to be that child's mother. I see worthwhile agencies so woefully under funded that it is miracle they make the rent from month to month, and I want to cry. I am going to come home from this conference and talk to you all about one of these agencies. They deserve some bloggerly brotherly love. This is a difference that I can make and will see if maybe I can. The only thing I can equate to this conference is when I was 13 and planned my escape from Girl Scout camp, because I was homesick. Someone ratted me out; and Pasquin and my mom came and rescued me. This was after years of girl scout camp and loving it. Except I am a grown up this time, and it is my job.