This is an evil little game I like to play with myself, it really brings out my inner masochist.
Exhibit A: I wake up to the sounds of the rusty hinges of the mail box being painfully exercised. "Hmm," I think "it sounds like 11am." 11am!!! I roll over in my luscious bed, and peak through one eye: 11:07am, reads the alarm clock. Shit.
Verdict: Bad. I promised myself I'd be up by 9:30 (while of course taking no precautions to make this so).
Exhibit B: Belly is growling (loud enough for Arkansas to complain), and I contemplate whether it's a good idea to wield a great big bread knife so early in the morning. Imagine my delight when I discover the bagels are pre-cut!
Exhibit C: Time for a shower. For the first time in months, the hot water lasts as long as I do (running time: 36 minutes of soapy, 80s song-belting goodness). However, husband thoughtlessly left me only crumbs of soap (why do man hands crush bars of soap into dust every time?) and I have to use body wash and those damn sissy sponge-on-a-string contraptions that I hate.
Exhibit D: Clutching a too-small towel to certain body parts and dripping copiously on the carpeting, I find that I must work pantless today until I've done laundry.
Verdict: Indifferent; nudity is only slightly less professional/formal than the pink Eeyore pajama pants that I normally wear for work.
Exhibit E: Sit down to edit the stuff that I wrote yesterday. In today's light, it all sounds like shit. I decide I'm either being too self-critical or someone slipped me a moron pill, and I'm not sure which I'd rather it be. No work today.
Exhibit F: My naked thighs stick to the leather chair; when I stand up, it feels like I'm being skinned.
Verdict: Very bad. Ouch, mother fucker!
Exhibit G: Jorge affirms that I hate everything, asserts that he is better at being brown than I am, and cheers me up with haikus. A couple that he wrote, at my request (I supplied the brilliant titles):
Lounging in the grass
Chewing on Vegetation
Not giving a damn
Inverted Eyelashes That Poke You In the Cornea
Just walking along
Suddenly a flash of pain
Verdict: Good. In a bad kind of way.
Exhibit H: I have a headache. Must take pills and lie down to read (darnabies!). While reading very nice Alice Munro book, I fall asleep for a good 20 minutes.
Verdict: Goodish. It should be bad, but I sleep so rarely (and never nap) that this mid-day decadence just feels too damn good to feel bad about.
Exhibit I: Nothing will cheer me up like a nice stroll outside. I even Fabreezed my running shoes yesterday, so that will be pleasant! Oh wait, it's raining outside. And I'm wearing a white t-shirt.
Verdict: Bad for me, great for my neighbour.
Exhibit J: Gilmore Girls is on. It's a new one.
Verdict: Not goodish. Although it's one of my favourite shows, that Rory is really getting on my nerves. "Wah wah, I had sex with a delicious boy and so obviously I assumed we would get married and live happily ever after but now he's not calling me so I got drunk on two (2!) glasses of punch and puked it up while mummy held my hair." Dear Rory: shut the hell up.
Exhibit K: It's bedtime, the headache is back with a vengeance, my tummy is upset at something, I just drank 2 bottles of water too quickly and will surely be up peeing all night long, and Jason just got home for a 2 day weekend, meaning goodbye personal space and the freedom to drink all day long without judgment.
Verdict: Goddamn shitty asshole wanker of a day.