Just Call Me a Trained Monkey

Hubs called this morning and asked if I wanted to make some money.

Duh.

'Course, I thought he meant he found a writing gig for me. I didn't know he was going to spring data entry on me. And when I say data entry, I'm being liberal.

Copy, change screens, paste, arrow, copy, change screens, paste, change screens, copy, paste, arrow.

Wash rinse repeat.

For the dollar figure he offered me, I thought I'd do it all day.

My eyes were crossing after 30 minutes. I made it an hour and ten minutes.

The funny thing?

Hubs tried to explain what I was doing. "First you run the query and then you are uploading to the database, then you draw the new query from the post to the zoogle and ankhfpih ucmhkhndkf xz, hbvgdhlclm dxchnz,d.

And I said, "Yeah, whatever. Give me the steps."

I'm a trained monkey. I don't want to know what I'm doing. I'm over that. I dropped out of grad school 10 years ago.