Working For The Weekend [refrain]

I hate to admit it, and I'm sure it's no secret to you, Gentle Reader, but I was feeling a wee bit sorry for myself this week. I hate feeling pathetic. I suppose we all do.

The way I deal with self pity, stress, embarassment, and, oh, just about any emotion that I'd rather not deal with, is to write. Like I told my friend Mo, when he asked whether I was done whining about the Viking (I am, I swear.): I have to write it down, put it up there on the wall, so to speak, and metaphorically slap it around a bit. Then it goes away, and I can go on.

That's what this blog does for me. And hey, it's cheaper than a therapist!

Hearing the occasional kind or encouraging word also helps. I can't go to my hairdresser every week, so I'm even more thankful for you, Gentle Readers. This week I'd especially like to thank:

Eldon, who wrote me a poem about the Canuck, the American, and the Viking.

Joey, who accompanied me on My Sharona both at karaoke and at jamaoke.

Tim K, who believes me now about the go-go dresses.

Mark, who writes about things like this: ".NET profiler that monitors your GUI application and report any violation of calling GUI code on non-GUI thread. GUI code is defined as..." yet found time to attempt to sing me good luck to the tune of Jack and Diane.

Joan and Christie, just for being girls.

Alistair, for reading and for linking to me.

Mike, for pointing out that everyone in Germany drives Mercedeses and BMWs, even the cab drivers.

Tim B, who years ago forced me to learn html, and who this week said a nice thing to me, and who, in some ways, both good and bad, reminds me of my father.

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