I hate being too tired to do anything.

I realize I have an unusual schedule. I get up a tad earlier than the rest of the working world. But even when I take a day off and waste 3/4 of it in my big ugly gold chair, reading and watching movies, I am still exhausted the rest of the week.

Today felt okay. The day was long, but I chugged through. Tyler and I exchanged a series of "whoa life sucks a lot" kind of emails, but at the end of the day, it was 70 degrees and I had a whole free afternoon and evening ahead of me!

So I came home and boiled some potatoes and sat in my big ugly gold chair and checked blogs for two hour and a half hours and now I feel like death. It's probably the concentrated block of time spent doing nothing useful. When I'm reading, at least I'm enjoying myself. When I'm watching TV, it's nearly always because I had planned to watch it and I'm enjoying it (except during Barefoot Contessa, who is never barefoot and always makes me clutch the arms of my chair and grind my teeth). But I can spend hours on my blog reader, willing myself to keep clicking, not looking up from the computer, working myself into a comatose state.

I could go to the gym, but I keep telling myself the gym will be crowded and I'll have to wait for a machine, so what's the point?

I could go out with friends, but they're going out super late and by golly I have to be up early!

I could actually sit up and work on my thesis, but really, who am I kidding? That joke is nine months old

I could put on my pajamas and pop a benadryl.

Hmmmm.

Morals of today's story: I think I need an afterwork schedule. Maybe some extracurriculars that don't involve drinking.




Also, I should probably lay off the boiled tuberous roots. Why couldn't I just bake them like a normal person? Because I'm effing scared of the gas flame yet feel compelled to defy it at any given opportunity!