Sometimes the only thing I want to do is curl up and read a book. I have dragged myself out of bed today. Twice.
Wish life were all about staying under the covers, book in hand, while someone whipped up healthy delicacies. A bite, a page, a little reading over again, listening to music, the hum of rain outside the window.
Instead, must work, clean, be nice. Arrrrrgh. Blog even. No, I did that because I had to drag myself out of reading, or I would be an irritated grump when I go out for the evening.