Remember the farm? The one whose house was broken into two weekends ago? Yeah, that one. It came to life Saturday night, as kind of a “screw you” to the folks who stole from us. We had a little party, and we burned a little fire.

We roasted oysters and marshmallows and made s’mores and listened to some good music and promised to do it again sometime soon. Sunday afternoon I got a nice little visit from a smart little girl, who at almost two years old, knows a crescent moon and how to pose for a camera.

Today at work, I keep checking weather.com and wishing that the weekend would just hurry up and get here already. I haven’t seen Gena in months and I’ve really been doing good, if you ask me, but that pesky anxiety is starting to creep up on me again. I can’t decide whether I just need a vacation, or whether there are bigger things at work, but my plan in the next week is to get a lot of rest and see where that leaves me.

I finished a book last night written by Jen Lancaster and I have to say that there’s hope for me, yet. She’s 40 (ish?) now and after a giant layoff saga, she took to the blogosphere and consequently wrote some books. Do I reek of desperation yet? No? Take a bigger whiff. It’s there.