I’m a homebody; I really am.  I love traveling and seeing places and doing things, and I’m sure if I were at home all the time I would go stark raving mad.  But, given my druthers on a given day (especially any AUTUMN given day), I would stay home and work on projects or read or just putter around to my heart’s content.

Most of the time, I’m fine with and enjoy the schedule I’ve chosen of full time work, errands and family or friends or random evening events.  But sometimes, it just GETS to me.  Like, I’m grumpy and complain every morning when leaving the house and generally not very much fun to be around (my poor husband).  Sure, I tell myself, that if I didn’t go to work every day, then there would be a complaint about something else; it just is how this ungrateful human is.  But this week, drastic steps had to be taken before I went to the looney bin.

I played hooky.  Yes, I did.  And I’m not sorry for it at all.

I called into work to “take a sick day.”  (Growing up the baby of the family taught me more than a little in wording things just right so as to not technically tell a lie.)  Yes, it was horrible of me to attempt this measure of deceit.  Does it count in my favor that I knew my boss and co-workers would know what I really was doing and the fact that I’m admitting it on this here blog o’ mine?

I don’t care, and I’m not feeling any regret.  ‘Cause the day was WONDROUS!!!  Splendid, divine, to-die-for.  Every once in a while, a body just needs a day of hooky.  It just does.

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