Off
Sometimes you go into to work and it turns out you didn’t work that day so you scoot back home and open the windows to let the cool fall air in and crawl into bed next to your lovely wife and your fuzzy little orange cat keeps watch out the window and the light gently rises over the hill on which you live and a thought drifts lazily up from your subconscious, through your limbic systems, past your prefrontal cortex, right out through the crown of your head: life is perfect.