I haven’t updated my blog in awhile because, well, I couldn’t.  Like, I literally could not.  Trust me, I wanted to. I wanted to write a new post with the unwavering passion of a thousand fiery suns burning across a hot July sky, but alas! The Fates had spoken and I could not.  My computer could no longer adapt to life on this cold, loveless planet and decided to take the cowardly way out, to find a permanent solution to a temporary problem.  So it is with a heavy, aching heart that I must tell you that at 6:27 pm EST on April 12th, 2010, my computer crashed …

…. so I threw it across the room and swore at it.  Then Clayton tried to figure out what was wrong with it, got frustrated, and he swore at it, too.

Rest in peace, you crap piece of machinery.

Anyway, not surprisingly, nothing exceptional happened in the past week. It’s just business as usual - I begrudgingly pull my body out of my cozy bed 30 minutes late and stand grumpily under the shower spray only to just pull my janky hair into a ponytail and stumble out the front door in wrinkled clothes.  I sit at my desk and sip my decaffeinated green tea, counting down the hours until I can take my morning break and sneak out to my car and read for 15 minutes.  After my first break I continue to sit at my desk, eyes tweaking out from the florescent bulbs, counting down the hours until lunch.  After a fleeting lunch I focus on my upcoming afternoon break.  At 5:15pm I finally leave work (would have been 5pm if I could get up and get there on time), drive back to my home not understanding why sitting down all day made me so tired, tiredly put on my running shoes and hit then gym.  After I sweat it out on the treadmill and decide every other girl in the room is prettier and thinner than me, I go home just in time to cram food in my face and see Clayton off on his way to his own workout.  Then I sit on the couch like a slob contemplating doing the dishes, deciding dishes are best done tomorrow, and ultimately surfing through my DVR recordings of Lizzie McGuire and old episodes of America’s Next Top Model that I’ve seen 6,421 times. At 11:00 pm I decide to go read, and then end up reading past midnight.  I fall asleep and eventually feel Clayton crawl into bed beside me.  During the night he flips over onto his back and I jab him in the ribs, begging him to roll over and stop snoring. Sometimes he puts his elbow in my face. At 6:00 am I’m abruptly woken up by the gaggle of birds screaming “OMG GOOD MORNING! HOW ARE YOU? DID YOU SLEEP WELL LAST NIGHT?” I toss and turn for the next hour and half, wishing God never created birds and wondering why Clayton and I have 15 different alarms set that we just shut off and ignore.  Once 7:30 am hits, my final, most annoying alarm goes off.  It’s a recording of my voice chirping a reminder to take my birth control pill so my life doesn’t become mornings of being woken up at 6:00 am with a gaggle of children screaming, “OMG MOM! MOM! MOM! PANCAKES! PANCAKES!”

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Praise the Lord that it’s Friday.  I live for the weekends – staying up late because I can sleep in on Saturday, running fun errands, seeing friends who are delighted they’re not at work either, and all sorts of other amazing things that are even more amazing because it’s finally warm outside again. Weekdays are so mundane I can’t possibly fathom going through the same motions another day.  Yet, somehow we always do.  We always get up in the morning, against our better judgment, and prepare to take on another day that, aside from what we decide to eat for lunch, will be just like the day before.  It’s like Groundhog’s Day, only less funny because it’s happening to us.

T.G.I.F. … and I mean that whole-heartedly.