Three days was the morning

How much happier I'd be if I only had to work four days a week. Seriously, I'd put in ten hour days if I could have a Friday or a Monday off.

The weekend was lovely. Had drinks with Alyssa at 7B Friday and talked boys, boys, boys and a little bit of career. Seems I've been bitten by the social work bug -- thinking about trading in my high-paying souless job for something less lucrative but more rewarding. I need to give that one a little more thought, but I'm about 90 percent sold. Had a lovely Saturday evening with The WB. Dinner, drinks and Donnie Darko, which I decided I loved about an hour after it was over. Sunday was Sex and the City. I made Baked Rigatoni with Bechamel Sauce, which was divine, if not The. Most. Fattening. Thing. On. Earth. Try it sometime. You will not be disappointed.

I saw a little of myself in Miranda Sunday whilst watching Sex and the City. Her and Steve were on their honeymoon, and she was dying of restlessness and boredom. Four days of doing nothing but cuddling and having sex. No TV, no radio. It sounded dreadful. Since I've been accused of not having the relaxation gene and not pampering myself enough, I decided to take a long, luxurious bath last night. Promised myself I wouldn't get out until I was pruny. It was hell -- total hell.