Saturdays have not been very good lately and I'm wondering if it's the result of having spent the five days preceding in a cubicle farm staring into a computer screen or if I've got some kind of subconscious self defeating masochistic streak blooming in my brain, the body whispering “quit this crap and start acting like an actual human being”. There are those who say spending your life living in a cubicle farm is a less than subtle form of self destructive madness and, although I know many who more or less secretely agree, I also know it's hard to break out without more courage than most people are allowed. So my Saturdays more times than I care to remember have been less than wonderful and I complain a lot.

MRE, on the other hand, reminds me at any given moment somewhere in the world there's a guy my age bent over a chair having the bottoms of his feet whacked to pieces with a bamboo stick, so it's best I remember there are gradations of crappy. Best to cut the crap and get on with “it”. “It” being a leisurely breakfast reading the paper. “It” being a cup of coffee and a conversation later across the street. “It” being lunch with friends accompanied, perhaps, by a beverage before returning to the office to float a bit through the rest of the day. He has a point, but he spent twenty hours in front of a computer screen himself on Sunday.