Ball I'm wearing socks with Birkenstocks today. I'm one step away from patchouli and sculpy beads. But I was very tired this morning and decent footwear was not high on my list of things to accomplish.This weekend was spent updating and maintaining servers at the office. It's a glorious life that I lead, I tell you what. But we did take a small break to work on the pinball machine. Man, I never knew these things were so much work. The main problem was that I was convinced for all the world that the machine itself was causing my failures in play. Obviously the bumpers were off. Obviously the playfield was not level. There is no other reason for my pitiful scores. So I convinced my co-workers to assist me in rectifying the sitation. Unfortunately, since I was the one who wanted the Addams' Family to be on the level so badly, I'm the one who got to crawl around on the floor. And of course, the easiest way to level a pinball machine is to get on your hands and knees under it and lift up with your back so that the weight of the machine is on you and the legs swing free. That's what they tell me at least. I'm thinking they just wanted incriminating photos of my ass. All I know is the game is a lot more close to level and my back didn't suffer any permanent damage from the escapade. And my game has improved so it's well worth it. Not much else going on in the world of Genie. But I'm doing great overall. I almost feel like I'm getting jipped when I go to the therapist in such a fabulous mood. He asks how things have been and I cheerfully babble about my week and how my boss is so nice and my soon to be ex is so nice and my family is so nice and my pets are doing well and everything's coming up roses. It's as if he doesn't really know what to say. So we have this sort of psychological ass slapping session of “keep up the good work” and “go team” and then I pay my copay and leave. Anticlimatic? Yes. Much preferred over dramatic angsty foo and wah? Most definitely.