Yesterday's picture, taken during the approximate 2.5 hours that I spent out of bed. And that's not in bed in a good way, if you know what I mean. Sigh. I went back to work today anyway, armed with not only a can of coke but also a can of organic ginger ale and some saltines. It's been okay. Still, this pretty much sucks. I kind of wanted to go camping this weekend; in fact, I had a vague and hilariously awful plan of doing some kind of horrible new age ritual in which I would ritually get rid of all my old problem behaviors and emerge, newly fledged, from the woods like the butterfly from the chrysalis, O. (That's O as in there go the raggle taggle gypsies, O, you know, the obligatory folk music string band new age O. Just in case you were wondering.) Yeah, I know. This is what happens when you have a hippie guru shrink like mine: it starts to actually make sense. And I was kind of enjoying the thought of going camping by myself (well, with the dogs, in case there are any stray shoes that need to be eaten out in the woods) and making a fire and ritualistically burning bad crayon drawings representing, O, bad decisions and bad news boyfriends and so on. O.
Well, it's still possible. It just might have to happen in the den instead of Pisgah National Forest, that's all.