On Sunday, I rested. After two activity-filled days, I found myself sleeping way in this morning (until afternoon in fact) and then puttering around all day bored silly by life. I made breakfast and walked dogs and attempted the Sunday crossword and watched my boys bring home a win phinally and now am taking up this fog blog. Becvause I am bored silly. This seems to be the pattern of my summer. I am either flying high or crashing low, and I dislike this state of going to extremes.
I am a curious conundrum of lone wolf and social butterfly. I prefer the socialing to be on my terms and am not so desparate for companionship that I wish to waste my time with anyone I am just not that into. I would rather go it alone if it comes to that. But I find that of late, my need for solo downtime is fulfilled within an hour or two. Then I am raring to go onto the next thing, I want someone to play with.
I hate Sundays. Always have. The day before one has to return to the dread work week. Even when Sundays are good days there is still a pall over the proceedings, the shadow of what will come at the stroke of midnight. I feel like I have spent too many Sundays of late mucking around my house and making myself crazy with the heat. Left to my own devices, I am a pretty poor excuse for a grown-up. All I wanna do is have some fun, and when the fun is done I am displeased with myself.
Cranky, cranky. I have spoken to no human today. I feel sticky and useless and disgusted with my lot in life. Blah blah blah.
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