sit and wish you could magically get just sick enough not to be socially acceptable but not so sick that you couldn't enjoy getting out of the commitments you'd made so you could jsut stay home and sleep and maybe read?
I feel overbooked. Rehearsal on Monday night. Rehearsal tonight, with a stop over for a Chinese New Year celebration. Supposed to visit with a friend tomorrow night. Friday is panic cleaning day because Saturday is my birthday party, and Sunday we are going for brunch for Valentine's day since Husband is teaching Monday night and won't be home.
I just took about a 30 minute nap and was awakened by a cat dancing frantically on my butt. I will remember that next time I spot him napping comfortably, which should be in about 10 minutes.
Ah well, he was just looking out for me, as I really need to get my music together, runa comb over my head, and prepare to be social. I really, really, REALLY would rather just go hide in my room. I feel like I'm being eaten alive by a story I'm about a chapter and a half into. When I sit down to write, suddenly my email and various little online timewasters seem sooo appealing, but when I'm doing anything else I just want to work on the story. Even if I had nothing else in the world to do but write, I'd become engrossed in hunting split ends or something. I'd rather sort socks than write, but I'd resent the socks from keeping me away from the keyboard the whole time.
I make no sense. Do I ever?