It's hot. It's not lent--I can say that. We had a fantastic summer, unless you're a tomato plant in my backyard, but now, like one last hurrah or punishment, we've had three hot days. I went walking with Elizabeth and Janine this morning and nearly passed out halfway through. The way home was in the shade, or else I'd probably be lying in Tower Grove Park, sweaty and exhausted.
So it's hot, but I did exercise. And I ate the eggs I'm supposed to and avoided driving to Starbucks for a grande mocha frozen diabetic coma. I kept the house tidy and put the spaghetti squash in the crockpot to cook all day (it's dinner tomorrow night with pesto and olive oil and mozzarella). I read, I blogged, I cleaned up from the weekend. I arranged playtime for Maeve and picked up Sophia on time.
It's the second week at school and my day is suddenly empty. By next week I'll have it full again, and it won't be so damned hot, which will help immensely. But today, it was this stream of consciousness:
I should knit. Nah. I should vacuum. Uh. Tired. I don't want to play polly pockets. Ok, I will. For a moment. Maybe I'll go weave. Too hot in the attic. Clean out the pantry. The basement...oh, the laundry. I can't think about this right now. Atrium. Girl Scouts. Paralyzed by ennui. What's my problem? Should I nap? Nap didn't help. Still so unmotivated. Tomorrow I will have caffeine. It will be a different day. A better one.
And so on. Now Mike is making deer and rice in the kitchen, the kids are setting the table, and I can fake it till bedtime. Then, though, I will crawl into bed and rest until tomorrow brings coffee and plans and energy to get all this stuff done...