Sunday evening is never really a time of happiness. Still sick and exhausted from yet another non-weekend weekend, I find myself restless when what I really, truly need more than anything in the world right now is rest itself. I go through my usual insomniac routine: New Yorker, movie, laying in darkness thinking of a million tiny little things. At times I wonder if it would be better if I were to just get up and do them. Instead I procrastinate further by watching, reading, listening, and now blogging. When I do finally drift off, I awake refreshed and forget my worries of the night before. I make a coffee and go on about my day. I get things done, but never everything and am thus perpetuating the cycle.
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