I sitting here on the couch, this cold Sunday morning, and I’m feeling a lot of guilt.

First, I slept in. I’m usually up by 730am, 8 at the latest, but this cold Sunday morning I stayed in bed ’til 9. I’m absolutely mortified by this, of course. It’s extremely unproductive behaviour, and I’m sorry.

When I did finally get up I did not exactly kick into high gear, either. I made breakfast (bacon and eggs), watched the last of a silly old Sean Connery movie, looked outside (through freshly-cleaned windows!) at the almost palpable overcast, and now I’m here, sitting on the couch, writing a blog.

Now, don’t get me wrong – I enjoy writing my blogs, and I consider it time well-spent – but I do actually have homework to do, and now that it’s almost 11 I’m actually starting to wonder if I’m going to be able to wrap my head around that kind of concentration at all today. I just don’t feel energized. I think I’d rather clean house than sit down at my desk in the basement and try to get into the mental gymnastics of Barthes, Saussure, and Eco. There, I just sighed.

I think I’ll call this a personal day and leave the books in the school bag. I think I’ll spend some time communing with the insides of my eyelids. I think I’ll leave the newly-snowy outdoors to the newly-snowy outdoors. I think I’ll play with the pooch today and leave all that other stuff for anther time.

Oh, I still feel guilty, but at least I’m determined.


The Pooch


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