Extricate.

I am almost out the door. It's raining. My truck hates rain. My hair looks great. It won't be after walking from parking lot to workplace (we don't believe in umbrellas in the Northwest). I'm not made of sugar, nor am I a fragile little flower.

But, oh, for about five minutes this morning, my virtual self ran around green grass, sparkling lakes, magical dragon-fairy-flies, pounding down rocks like they were made of sawdust, and running with buff-looking elves.

My happy place.

Off I go.