I don't know what it is about Fridays that always gets me depressed, but it never fails. Maybe it's the exhaustion of wading through the stupidity of the work week, maybe it's something to do with a lack of sleep or malnutrition. Whatever the cause, I am grumpy and I wanna go home. I have no appetite so I still haven't eaten breakfast, but maybe that's a good thing. Or maybe not.

Sometimes I dream up an elaborate plan to fake my abduction and run off to Aruba or Atlanta or somewhere equally exotic. I could resurface in a couple of weeks, claim amnesia, and start over. Of course my husband would be privy to my plans, and would wait patiently for me until I returned. He would be the pity of Chicago, having a missing wife, then only to have her return with amnesia, forgetting all details of their wonderful life together. He could hold press conferences explaining how difficult it was trying to remind me of my past, all the while we could be frolicking and enjoying my new calm relaxed sense of self resulting from my hiatus. I would have to time it perfectly, in order for me to be able to avoid particularly unpleasant projects at work, and to allow for a slow period at hub's place of employment so he could take a suitable amount of time off to care for me and imaginarily nurse me back to mental health. And maybe some rich person would take pity on me and buy us a house and pay for our groceries because having endured such a traumatic event as to elicit amnesia, I would be in no state to ever work again.

I actually feel a lot better now. A little bit of fiction is awfully therapeutic.

So it turns out that the story that the quote I loved so much is from, about the mind's eye not being able to see everything, is about lesbians and pot. Not that there's anything wrong with that, I just found it interesting for some reason.