I don’t know about you, but this week has felt like an entire year crammed into five measly days. A weekyear, if you will. You know that feeling? When every day drags on so much that by Wednesday, you’re convinced it must be Friday… but then, NOPE—just another exhausting weekday in a never-ending work cycle. Time has morphed into this bizarre stretchy, sticky substance—like the worst kind of gum that never loses its flavor of stress.

Each day feels like a marathon of meetings, emails, and, naturally, those oh-so-fun fires we constantly have to put out. Monday? Feels like it was at least six days ago. Tuesday? Don’t get me started—by then, I was mentally packing my bags for a deserted island (with WiFi, of course). By Thursday, my brain was pure mush, unable to comprehend how it could still be the same week. It’s the kind of week where every step forward is like walking through molasses, only the molasses is on fire because deadlines are looming.

But thank goodness for my three doggies. Seriously, if it weren’t for those sweet furballs waiting for me at the end of the day, I might have just disintegrated on the spot. There’s nothing like collapsing into their little arms (okay, paws) when the weight of the day becomes too much. I mean, do they care about emails? Nah. Do they care about deadlines or that weird project you’re behind on? Absolutely not. They’re just here to love me unconditionally, even when I’m a barely functioning human blob melting into the couch.

At the end of a “weekyear,” when time becomes a warped blur of to-do lists and tasks, I count my blessings—mainly, the fact that I have my dogs to remind me to stop, breathe, and maybe just nap it out. Because, honestly, isn’t that the best cure for the endless weekday grind?