Lazy August

It's Saturday, and I should be working. But first, Hi! How are you? I'm well; I'm a bad redhead. I spend a lot of money to keep my hair a color approximating red and today I just couldn't be bothered to use the specialty shampoos and conditioners that deposit more red into my hair. Today was a Garnier Fructis and John Frieda kind of day.

I find it very difficult to work on weekends. I've got four meetings on Monday and the day starts early, so I want to get ready for them this weekend. I don't want to run around Monday morning like a nut trying to get case files together, do last-minute research, and probably balance a giant trash bag. But still, everything in me says that I should spent today and tomorrow reading books, watching TV, and listening to podcasts while playing endless rounds of mah jongg solitaire. I'll figure it out though. It'll probably be tomorrow before I do anything.

I used to love Sundays. Sundays were days of talking with Momma, napping, acting foolishly - all the things I like best in a day. For the past month or so, though, Sundays have turned into an extension of Saturdays. This doesn't mean that Sundays are bad days, but they're not the same, and occasionally I resent that.

I don't use washcloths. I don't know why I felt the need to tell you that.