I read an article recently about journalists who live with their parents and being completely okay with it. Like, it's normal. You know what's not normal? Being a journalist and NOT living with your parents.
By day, I'm a newspaper editor leading my noble staff to reporter-victory.
By night, I'm a tired and sometimes cranky big sister who gets frustrated at the dogs and yells at incompetent athletes on TV.
I also misbehave in McDonalds and try my best to tell a joke but inherently fail.
I used to be a journalist and not live with multiple family members. But now I've joined the honorable ranks of reporters who rub shoulders with important-titled people by day and at night cuddle on the couch with a sibling and a football game.
They are honorable ranks, really. There's no sarcasm there.
While I'm blogging this, my little brother is playing PS3 with a friend right next to me. My sister's alternating between watching them and reading over my shoulder.
I'm cataloging in my head my to-do list for tomorrow ... as newspaper editor and big sister.