The Mother Load

And hairy?  Don't answer that.

Last week at Mahalo, this blogger wrote absolutely nothing. Of the roughly 15-20 hours of work I'm expected to turn in to meet my minimum requirements, I completed exactly zero hours.  And I still work there...in good standing...still a rock star in my own world.

One of my favorite things about working for Mahalo.com is the opportunity to take things a week at a time.  With a schedule like mine, that's about how I have to live my life.  Last week was not conducive to writing anything other than angst filled poetry.  Last week came at me like an unusually hungry zombie, devouring my brains until they dripped from my eye sockets and ran races down my cheeks.  (Some might call those tears.) This week, I have oodles of time to write and a brand new outlook.  Next week, I'll probably have two tests and a paper due, a rash of unexpected appointments, and a poorly timed meltdown.  All of that will happen with or without the recommended hours of sleep needed for proper human functioning. (Without.  Definitely without.)

Fortunately for me, when I have a week filled with brain eating zombies of mass destruction, I only need to send an email to Greg (Ah, Greg...how do I appreciate thee? Let me count the ways...in chocolate...and cash.) and say the following: "I want the week off."  No explanation is required, but I usually give him one, the better to make him grateful for his own life.  He says, "Cool. Get some rest.  See you next week," and my week off is secured (and I start amassing chocolate and cash for the day I deliver it all at his feet in adoration).

Maybe I should let him know now that I anticipate zombie attacks the week of Thanksgiving.  And Christmas.  And New Years...