Week. End?

Now that I am offically no longer blogging about work I'm having trouble thinking of anything meaningful to say.

The trouble is that my brain is the consistency of soggy pound cake on account of all the everything and the what-not.

I desperately need to reinvent the sorry drone I have become but I just don't have the energy or the imagination.

Every time I feel like I'm getting just a little bit on top of things, something terrible happens; usually to the Moneky-husband, to remind me that apparently I'm not allowed to be happy or relaxed or have things go my way.

Perhaps I should spend the weekend hiding under the doona.