I have nothing remotely profound to say. Blame this on the stress I've been feeling because of work. Although, the mention of my stress brings to mind this philosophical question: If I didn't feel stress at work, wouldn't that mean I don't really care about what happens at work? And if that's true, then does that imply there is no meaning to what I do? And if there is no meaning, how depressing is that? Which leads me to think I'm creating this stress so the 40+ hours I spend at work have meaning.
Discuss.
Recently watched movies: 3:10 to Yuma (I recommend) and 27 Dresses (I also recommend. I'm not usually a fan of silly chick flicks, but Katherine Heigl was charming. And if you are like me and all your friends are getting married, it hits close to home.)
Lesson of the week: There is truth in "too much of a good thing." Think Swedish Fish and candy canes.
Book(s) I'm trying to read: Dog Day, Dark at the Roots, The Boleyn Inheritance and Petropolis (which I mistook for Persepolis).
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