Blank Monday

It's a Monday night. I'm actually home from work at a reasonable hour. I could have stayed back and done about four hours of content entry, in fact the client meeting the deadline probably depends on it, but I don't have the energy. I'm ready for a holiday (Tasmania on Friday, yay!). I should work on my book, I should tend to my finances, I should cook an ambitious and nutritious meal for myself. I could go to the movies, I could buy another season of The Sopranos (I have actually saved more than enough gold coins to cover the cost of this). I should read Love in the time of Cholera because I'm never going to finish it before book group on May 3. But I can't seem to make myself do anything.

This is just the state in which S. used to lie me on the couch, cover me with a blanket, and turn on The Lifestyle Chanel, and then begrudgingly make me something to eat. Oh, I would love to sloth out (on a couch - no couch any more, I watch tv from the dining room table), and have someone cook me dinner. But in fact, I can probably get through the antsy, unsatisfied, petulant feelings and actually get some of my list of things actually done.

So I suppose that's another good thing about living on my own.