I just had my flight changed to go home to Vegas.

No, I didn't quit. I'm just coming home two days early. My weeks end on Saturday, so I figured that I could request Saturday off for my last week and leave Saturday evening. It's going to make things so much easier. I won't have to worry about working extra days, I won't have to cram all this stuff in when I get home, and overall, I'll just feel better. For a $45 difference, it is totally worth it.

I for the first time complained to my mom about my job. She was not that supportive of my feelings. She says that I came here to be a second mom. Sure, maybe that's how some people want to think about it, but there's one problem. I have NO control. I don't have the power that the mom has, hence I feel more like a housekeeper/domestic than an actual nanny. These are not my kids, and if I were to actually be a mom to them, there would have to be a lot of change. I mean, if I had five kids, they would never end up like this. Whatever. I only have three more weeks...24 more days...20 more days of work.

I'm looking forward to tomorrow. It's my first day off since last Sunday. So I've been working like...11 days straight. God, I deserve this. Definitely going to the Museum of Fine Art. After that, I'll try to cram as much as possible into the rest of the day...now knowing that I only have two more days off that I can do stuff before I leave. My third and last day off has to be used to pack and prepare for my flight.

My, I'm tired, and my work day hasn't even started. I'm never doing this to myself again. And Jim has won the argument over kids. One kid...two if it goes well and we get drunk. And I'm waiting until I'm at least 25 before I even think about having that kid. Otherwise I'll never have a life.

Okay, enough babbling. I'll write later.