Sometimes I find it hard to get out of bed. Not because it's too depressing, but because for a few precious moments I like to pretend I don't have anything I need to do. Like this morning, for example. I had to give Smokey (my 16-year-old diabetic cat) his insulin injection. I had to clean the litter and give him and his brother fresh water. I had to call the vet and order more insulin, and since Bell called and needed me to cancel my technician appointment again, I had to do that too.
I have about 1,327 things I could be doing right now. The kitchen looks like hell. It'll probably continue to look like hell until the new shelves go up. I could unpack a few more boxes. I could take some garbage out. I could find homes in this place for the various items that are laying about scattered on every surface.
So in lieu of all these things, I'm taking a bath. And then because I can, I'm having a butter tart for breakfast, at noon.
And then I'll be all grown up and shit and do something productive.