Of weather and motivation

Bright mornings are brilliant. Bright autumn mornings especially so. Yet sometimes, just sometimes, it’s lovely to wake up to an awful morning knowing you don’t have to go anywhere. Make some tea, light some candles, maybe turn on the radio, possibly/hopefully get some work done. But then there’s the guilty fear: what if the day turns out alright after all? What if the sun comes out? What if I have no excuse not to be efficient and sporty and happy after all? What if I have to try and fit two days into one – the one where I stay at home and work despite everything (and because I’m a slacker at heart this usually means panicky last minute work, no breaks and no excuses and thus no fun, plus a feeling of guilt: why didn’t I do this stuff earlier so that I could have enjoyed some of the nice weather) and the one where I go out  running and, um, frolicking in the woods (what?) and get creative with crafts and baking and in general exhibit the kind of icky exuberance normally found in early twentieth-century girls’ literature.

It’s never going to work. Am I the only one who likes days that start as they mean to go on, be that sunny or rainy? I feel it might be a weekend thing…

For some reason there are men outside at 9 am on a Sunday morning using very noisy leaf-blowers. That sort of ruins the atmosphere either way: no Sunday morning I’m-the-only-one-awake-and-already-working smugness nor just lazying about enjoying the peace and quiet. Le sigh. Feels like a Monday now.


Howl at the moon

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