(no subject)
When I was little, I used to hide under my mother's upturned plastic laundry baskets. Even now, when I am far too large for them, I still stick mine on my head like it's the top of some kind of fort. Just so you know.
It's gorgeous outside. I sat out on a dry patch of grass (the ground is still muddy) and read a book.
Am debating whether to do all the things I've got scheduled for Sunday, including church, Bible study, evening worship, and then Sunday Night College Group. Because the brain, it is still mush. My poor mother called me last night to ask what I wanted for my birthday, and I couldn't even think clearly enough to give her any good ideas. I never really think how much Quarter End eats my brain until it happens, and I feel so drained in the evenings. I can't string together anything remotely resembling a train of thought.
Was going to write a rant... argh. Eventually I shall be coherent again.
It's gorgeous outside. I sat out on a dry patch of grass (the ground is still muddy) and read a book.
Am debating whether to do all the things I've got scheduled for Sunday, including church, Bible study, evening worship, and then Sunday Night College Group. Because the brain, it is still mush. My poor mother called me last night to ask what I wanted for my birthday, and I couldn't even think clearly enough to give her any good ideas. I never really think how much Quarter End eats my brain until it happens, and I feel so drained in the evenings. I can't string together anything remotely resembling a train of thought.
Was going to write a rant... argh. Eventually I shall be coherent again.