Apart from two or three hours at Rhett and Stacey’s wedding Saturday night, the last 65 hours or so (counting from when I arrived home Friday night) have been distinctly punctuated by the sense that the universe is playing one really huge practical joke on me. Except it’s not funny … unless, apparently, you’re not me. (I say this because I had a chance to catch up with my friend Eric von Huber yesterday, and in response to my weekend stories he had nothing but laughter and the sage words of advice, “Sounds like stress to me.”)
I mean, it’s Monday morning, the time of day and day of the week I hate the most, and it actually feels like a *relief* to be at work and to have a bunch of stuff to occupy my thoughts. WTF?
Now, if I could just concentrate on a thought other than “What the hell is going on?” Or, more importantly, when whatever it is will stop going on so I can feel like a human being again.