If we're so busy living for the weekend, what then are we living for? What is the meaning behind the 100 some odd hours before the weekend hits? I can get so caught up in going to bed early and stressing about the daily grind of work, that I miss out on precious morsels of life hidden between the hours and minutes. They are the seconds that one captures when unconsumed by lifes furry, capsules and fragments that breath life into stale air. Moments when you look at your best friend still asleep, grateful for the companionship; putting dishes away thinking of the previous evenings conversation, of plans and dreams; letting the dog out for a water and break and absorbing the chill on your skin and bite in the air; catching an amazing sunset glow while picking up the mail....are you living today or just a shell?