I'm sure I went to sleep last night. I remember it distinctly. Yet, this morning, it is as if I never made the weary trip down the hall to the bed.
It's one of those days that started before bed last night. You know the kind. Where you are in a perpetual fog and every movement seems like an exaggerated mime of activity that would normally take much less time and effort.
Jared cooperatively woke up about six. Great time for school days. Not so great for a Saturday.
I can't recall the last time I got the opportunity to 'sleep in'.
Even if I am sick, I can't be sick and lounge around in bed because there is just too much to do.
Despite evidence to the contrary, I do make at least a half-hearted attempt to clean the house and do laundry, it's just that I'm swimming against the current on the effort. When there are 4 human and 1 non-human messmakers in the household, as well as the assorted canid guests (I do babysit my furry nieces and nephews from time to time), there is always something to sweep up, wipe up, pick up or straighten up.
Times like these, I am all in favor of living in the great outdoors.
Have you ever awakened from one of those "gee, I'm sure I went to bed but why am I so dang tired" nights and felt as if only careful movement would keep your head from rolling right off of your body? I haven't got reliable experiences to share regarding the degrees of hangover since I am not a boozer, but I have been told by those who have abundant life experiences waking up in odd places so frequently that it has become 'normal' to them that the foggy "I'm not sure how I got here" feeling is a major league component of the event.
I'm thankful that isn't a daily occurence in my own life. And I'm thankful that this groggy morning will pass as the sun eventually climbs into the eastern sky and stops burning a hole in my retinas from the window by my desk.
I started the laundry about 6:15 this morning in the hopes that I can get it done and relax this evening. Ha ha ha! Yeah, I know. It was funny to me too.
Even if the clothes are washed, there are beds to strip and recover, sheets, pillowcases and the assorted wayward sock that must be gathered, mopping that calls out to be done, carpeted floors in need of a serious vacuuming and bathrooms that desperately need their weekend reprieve from the grime of daily living.
I'm thinking there won't be much relaxing going on if these chores are to actually be performed.
Just sitting here looking at the items on my cluttered desk in desperate need of organization, I am reminded of a favorite quote: "A clean desk is the sign of a sick mind." Ha! I love that, simply because if my desk IS clean, then I can't find anything. That sounds stupid, but it's true.
This morning, my eyes feel as if they have been used to play marbles in the sandbox. It's a real shame I can't do as Mad Eye Moody and plop them into a glass of water for a quick once over rinse. Some days, they really feel like they could use one.
I suppose there isn't any reason for prolonging the inevitability of the chores that await. They will still be there if I do nothing, but the depressing thing about that is that they will still be there... No magic fairy dust sprinkled over the chores to miraculously complete them, no wand waving spectacle - just elbow grease and hard work.
Enough slacking. If I continue to sit here and type, I'll completely talk myself out of doing anything resembling useful effort. And somehow, that won't feel so good later on tonight.
It's an odd trade-off. Exhaust yourself now to feel good later.
Time to move, people. We're burning daylight!
