Humor in an Ice Bucket

I lie in bed this morning up until the last possible minute just really not wanting to get up. Getting up would involve going to work. (Morning being an operative word, considering my mornings are more like 1pm. )

Going to work involves people not liking you merely for what you represent. If I worked on a chicken farm, and someone noticed a chicken that was off bleeding in the corner, I'm sure I would, as the face of the company to that individual, be called an animal hater and thrown under the PETA bus.

Maybe work is easier to take less seriously because our personal lives force solemnity.

In less than three days, I lost my transportation, one friend lost her sanity, and the other friend lost her father.

I want to kick myself that one of the main things on my mind for that 4:30am phone call (calls that early are never good news) was that I needed sleep, needed sleep so bad I wanted to cry. (I was spending the night at work in a spare room) The other thing being that I didn't know what to say.

Still don't.

I've never been a hugger or a shoulder squeezer.

I've been gone to for advice rather than condolence.

I've rarely been sad, but merely had the feeling that I should be and wondering why I didn't.

It's a good thing I have a few days off work to put some levity back in my personal life, because I'll always wake up and find I've been staring at a wall for the past three hours. The plan is to be able to laugh about it.