I Don't Like Mondays

I wake at 3 or 4am, irrespective of the lengths I might have gone to in an attempt to exhaust myself into a full night's sleep. Long walks up hill and down dale, followed by (quite unbelievably, I know) a run, still can't get me through the night.

But come getting-up time, I struggle to haul myself out. This morning I had arranged myself two things to get up for  -  if you don't count the school run, which I don't. Push comes to shove, they could go on their own if they had to, these days.

I managed to get up, get washed, get dressed. Yay me.

By 10am both the things I had got up for were postponed to another day.  That might be a good reason to get up on Friday, but what's today for, now?

I am spending the rest of the day waiting until it is time to put my head back under the covers and pretend big parts of my life aren't really happening for me.  I lie there and think about the parts I like, and try to blank the rest of it.

I did not blog because I had nothing to say. I did not write because I can't be bothered.

Now I have constructed reasons to get up Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.  That takes me through to a whole new month. 

Day by day, isn't it.