Internal Conversations

That vast echoing space sound you heard is my brain. On one hand, it's Friday. On the other hand, it's Friday. I'm both tired, ready for the weekend, and can't add anything because I said both. I spent a not-insignificant part of my morning looking for chapstick, because it's never where you put it down. And I'm driving my truck today, instead of my usual commuter (the Ginja Ninja is re-taking her driving test and asked for that), so it's not got my usual stash of daily necessaries. Like chapstick, and naproxen (which I wanted yesterday), and... But mostly the part of me between the ears would really like me to take a nice lay down and let it contemplate the vast abyss of nothingness for a while. Only that's a trap. Even if I have time, which I do not because work, I'd lay down and the brain would whizz into overdrive. Not with anything useful, mind you. Just... squirrel! shiny! bounce bounce bounce. 

It's ok. I'll have some time over the weekend for rest and rehabilitation. 

*hysterical laughter sounds distantly.* 

No, really. 

Ok. Maybe not. I must clean and organize the garage so we can put Christmas away. The Little Man has declared it cannot go back up into the shed loft because. There are... 

*pauses. Dramatic music swells.* 

Wasps. The direst form of evil flying over the surface of the earth. And even in winter when they are all dead, he's having nothing to do with them. So I'll be working in the garage this weekend. Last weekend that was supposed to happen but other things did, instead. Because that's how life goes. And now... 

*music in minor key plays*

I must depart for work. In the rain. On the interstate. Whose bluidy idea was this, anyway?