Work. A slew of lifeless hours. Uneventful hours. This is what I wanted, isn't it?

I make frappuccinos into the night. Over and over again. Pouring ingredients into a blender and watching them turn to mush. This is how I spend my weekend.

And it's not so bad. I could think of worse times. I definitely have some worse times tucked away somewhere.

Like when we leave One World Cafe and we're sitting in my car at a red light and She turns to me while smoking a cigarette and says, I want to tell you something, but you can't get mad.

And I laugh. I chuckle and tell Her that's an awful way to preface whatever She's about to say, but sure, I won't get mad.

So, She tells me things that make me cringe and forget the roads we take to get home so She has to point and direct me when we near a turn because my mind is far, far off.

Yeah, there are definitely worse times than hours of making frappuccinos.