Relaxation, or bust

It's gonna be bust.

It's Monday, and I'm sitting at work so darn pooped that I might as well vent about my poopedness. Is that word? It is now.

My tiredness has passed the point of needing a nap. I fear that I'll just not recover from it and move on, having lost whatever sleep is lost. Woe is me. Whine whine whine.

I hate whining. Don't you?

Instead I'll revel in being one of those candidates for sleep deprivation tanks. It would be cool. Or maybe what I'm thinking about is those sensory deprivation tanks. Yeah, that's what I meant.

It would be so cool to just jump into one of those puppies and chill out for say, a couple of years or more. I could take a really long nap. Would I drown? Would it be so bad? Not drowning, I mean not having anything at all to feel or hear.

Of course, I just remembered that there were rumors that Michael Jackson had one of those tubes. Gross.

On second thought, maybe I'll have another cup of coffee and get back to grading papers.