Sunday Mornings

I lie awake, covers tossed to the side, the soft, summer morning coolness refreshing my sleep stuffy skin. Gazing out the window, my minds drifts to the now - no to do lists, no memories, no daydreams. Just now. I examine the sunrise, waking up the brick buildings across the courtyard, creating dramatic shadows under ledges. One bird's song becomes the soundtrack to my early morning revelry.

This summer is effing melting my brain.

I typed the last paragraph of the previous post out of order. I am not sure how I did that and I promise I re-read my posts a gazillion times because I am a terrible speller.

I also cannot stop: cursing, using non-culturally appropriate slang, cheking my twitter, and wearing the same blue polo like everyday. Whatever on the blue polo because it has a cute little scooped neck and capped sleeves. I also have it in brown but only wear that on special days.

Small Steps for Lazykind

I was so noble in the car. I had a plan. I made a list. I had a goal. I would be productive. I would accomplish Things. Many Things. I would not put on my super soft sweat pants, read a lost forever but really under my bed Jane Austen, and then watch two hours of tv. (Sounds excessive, but one of those hours is "Antiques Roadshow." And the other is "Heroes." Both teach very important life long lessons: "Save your crap and don't try to fix anything." and "Don't let people know you are special; they will try to kill you.")

But I am in my super soft sweat pants. I have changed to my fuzzy socks. And I have accomplished one thing on my list. But I have life lessons to learn.

Lazy Sunday

I woke up early enough that I could go for a run before my sister came over for brunch. And here I am, T-45 minutes until eggs and bacon, and I am still wearing my pjs. I have read the fun parts of the paper. I have checked my email. I have finished last night's pizza. I have found my running socks.

I have not gone running.