winterwooskie

esteemed friends and colleagues,
i write you with bleary eyes, blurry brain, and heavy heart. i have just squandered an entire friday evening by inadvertently falling asleep on the floor for not one, not two, but yes, three hours. my intentions were benign enough. i would watch one seinfeld rerun, smoke one cigarette, and ponder the activities of the glorious, homebound night ahead: maybe i will paint the kitchen! or make that craft with the string and the balloons. or perhaps i will take a luxurious bath. such prime-time reveries gave way to turgid, dreamless sleep. peter even went and came through the front door mere feet away from my roughhewn resting place; a disturbance so minor is usually enough to rouse me from an impromtu nap. but not tonight dear friends, not tonight. this incident leads me to conclude that my newfound 9-to-5 life is, indeed, still kicking me square in the ass. i shall attempt to see this incident in a positive light, adopting a motherly response toward my own unintended actions (well, honey, you clearly needed the rest). by any weekend's standards, the night is young. still, i can't help mourning the loss of one of my favorite times of the week.