*sigh*

Dang it all, anyway.

Just once I'd like to come (or stay) home sick from work and have the place to myself to wallow in my self-pity and crappiness (not crapulence) without having to share the couch or the tv or the front room. I mean, I've got roommates, it goes with the territory. I recognize that. And, as I've said before, I like my roommates. I do. I just occasionally would like to not have to hole up in my bedroom for some alone time since they are always home when I want to be and the spare room is generally unusable.

Truthfully, I'm totally jealous. Although I have to say if I didn't have to work every day, I'd certainly not be sleeping til 1pm, or sitting around the apartment (well, not all time...). Lordy, the apartment would actually be clean for once, for one. I'd also know the city inside and out because I'd have climbed every hidden stairway, biked through every neighborhood, gone to every museum and poked into every hidden gem of public space. I'd be hiking through every gorgeous place within a day's drive. I'd have been to the Grand Canyon. I'd learn to surf. I'd have mastered my pottery and would sell pieces. I'd have knit presents for every family member for the next several Christmases. I'd print, frame and sell some of my photographs. I'd volunteer for the Park Service, and maybe the Marine Mammal Center. I'd grow fabulous flowers and fat vegetables in my community garden plot.

It's easy for me to say that, of course, because I can't do all those things. So my jealousy becomes a little snitty. But that's the sort of shit that goes through my head while I'm sitting on the futon instead of laying on my couch.

It sorta takes away whatever possible fun there may be in being home on Tuesday afternoon with a monster fucking headache.