The Night Before
Streak (n), not to be confused with streak (v), where one means doing something successfully on an unbroken, consecutive basis, and the other means running naked across a footie field and realizing too late that the escape route was poorly planned out.
I mention this because I've done neither.
So, it's the night before the workweek Monday that brings wallowing despair and apathy. I have done nothing this weekend that I meant to do, but I was successful in having a nap yesterday. I count it a win.
(It was one of those drowsy kinds of naps where you wake up wondering what time it is, wonder how the hell you slept so long, and decide muzzily to go back to sleep until you actually wake up, but then realize you're hungry and your stomach is eating you from the inside out, so either you wake up now and feed the eldritch monster, or risk waking up later with an alien baby sitting on your chest, eating your face.)
In other news, the Spouse and I have been staring at the television in growing incredulity, then exchanging a long look coupled with a disbelieving Wha--at? and have come to the conclusion that we need to start a blog where we snark on how fucking ridiculous the commercials have gotten lately. For the amount of money the companies put into these things, you'd think they'd want to not look stupid.
So we'd like to educate them.
(It probably won't happen, though. But it would be fun to do.)