ProcrASStination.

Basically, people, I feel like I’ve been sleepwalking through the past month.

 

Really.

 

Even yesterday, when I had plenty of work to do at, you know, actual work – I stayed home with a whiny toddler and firepee thanks to being female and having, apparently, a short urethra. *bows to the TMI audience*

So I could have done schoolwork, right? The geneaology paper that is due today. Or the research paper that is due tomorrow. Both are still barebones and need work.

Instead, though, I spent the day watching Big Love on demand, flushing out my system with echinacea and vitamin C, thinking about the past and the future and how to best go about making pumpkin muffins.

So what did I accomplish? I lessened my infection, I think. I pondered what my hair would look like a la Ginnifer Goodwin in Season Three. I made the muffins. I vacuumed the floor. I did work a bit on the papers.

 

I can’t say I made much eternal progress in anything yesterday. Except the muffins. They were amazing.

 

 

About Mondays

It’s so cliche to have an opinion about Monday.

So much so that I feel kind of dumb admitting to having any feelings whatsoever about it.

Dumb is okay, though, so I’ll just go ahead and say…

I have no clue why it works this way, but my bed is always the most comfortable on Monday morning. Lucy chooses that time to not have her feet in my kidneys, my pillow is positioned perfectly, and the room temperature is finally (finally) neither freezing nor stifling.

And at that point, at the apex of perfection that it took the entire weekend to achieve, the damned iPhone alarm starts blaring (I have never found a good ringtone to wake me up that doesn’t simultaneously piss me off) and it all disappears.

It’s all psychological, I know.

Still. Garfield was so right, all along.