Always look forward to the weekend. Always. Always.
And then it gets here...
And, suddenly, your days seem fuller than you could've ever imagined. And the time is passing you by so quickly. And you don't know what you could've been thinking, planning such a ridiculously long to-do list. And why did you ever think any of it would fall anywhere near the same category as FUN just because you were all together...all the time?
All. The. Time.
Because the being together, really does reach its peak eventually. And it's usually right around that twelfth hour of non-stop ever-lovin' togetherness that the raw bloody derma just above the nerves with the neverending grating becomes painfully and fully exposed. And perhaps if the little elbows in your ears and across your brow, and the knobby knees in your kidney and bladder all night long, and the toenails that are just a little too long and are now digging in behind your knees wouldn't have kept you awake all night, trapped in the cocoon of love that's only about two breaths short of heatstroke and suffocation.
Or...perhaps...that was why, so long ago, women used to go out into the wilderness...by themselves, for a week...all...alone. How can we reinstitute that universally. And get employers to foot the bill, to boot?