Pod of Joy

It was a long horrible week.  Between shots and other things, I almost curled up and gave up today.  I told Nick this morning, "lets just hop back in bed, call in sick, and count our little piggies all morning!"  Of course my inner German forced me into the office and fluffed up my inner perky.  On a whole all is good since Friday morning starts my weekend bliss. Surrounded by my traditional sweatshirt joy, I count the tiny little hours until I can scoop moooshed banana into a little persons oral cavity, and bask in the realm of the great nothing.

I know a lot of people who are all energized on the weekend, they do lots of things and are involved in a wide expanse of world wide fun-ness.  I used to be this way, back in my 20s.  Then sometime around my 30s (about the time I went on anti-depressents, I stopped overreacting to stupid things, and chilaxing more), I realized I needed to stop my tiny little universe from interacting with normal human realm for a few brief hours, days, and re-collaborate.  Enter my pod of joy, shut the mental cortex down, and make lip farting noises.  One must eventually face the universal fact that one is a true introvert and bow before Dr. Bunny's tiny feline aura and bath her head.