Yesterday I tried to think what I should write: something engaging, something Charming, something, brilliant. Okay, maybe that’s going a little too far;I’ve never written anything brilliant in my life, but, you know, there’s always hope.
Not yesterday, though, there was no hope there. All I could think of was whiny stuff for a whiny baby blog. And why? Nothing horrible, heck, nothing remotely bad happened to me. I had no obligations the whole day. In fact, I had a very nice day with coffee and the New York Times in the morning, and gardening and a nice, hot bath in the afternoon (yesterday the weather was freakishly cold; today it is freakishly warm). Still, only whiny baby thoughts.
Then it came to me. I was cranky because I’d woken up at 5:00 AM. Of course I had – it was the first morning in a week that the cat hadn’t made me get up before 7:00. In fact, at 7:00, the cat was nowhere to be found. So, there I was, 5:00 AM, awake and slept out after six hours. Why did I wake up, why? I don't know. Why couldn't I drift off back to sleep? Same answer. There was a time, when I had babies in the house, that six hours would have seemed more than adequate. Not any more, though. Now I want my seven to eight hours. I mean, I WANT them!
In the late afternoon, I sat on the porch and read my Kindle and ate chocolate. Ah, chocolate, the world’s panacea. Apparently I’m a simple creature. All it takes to keep me contented is a good book and a lot of chocolate.
I got eight hours of sleep last night, and today everything is hunky dory!
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