Today being a public holiday in Australia, I had exactly one thing planned: to sleep in.
You can imagine, then, that waking up at 6:22 did not thrill me, and waking up again at 7:18 after a valiant attempt to ignore my first foray into consciousness for the day wasn't any better.1
So I did the only thing I could possibly do, under the circumstances. I decided to punish myself. Once and for all, I would teach myself that on mornings when a sleep-in is planned, then by gosh and by golly, sleeping in will be had. Or, at the very least, a thorough lying in.
Which is why I got up, had a shower (because, you know, sleeping in can be done while clean and fresh — particularly if you're going to be awake for it), made sure the blinds were most firmly shut, and climbed back into bed with a very dim bedside lamp2 and a book and stayed there for five hours.
I considered, after all that strenuous reading, forcing myself to take a nap for good measure, and I'm not entirely ruling out the possibility for this afternoon's list of activities, but for now at least I am confident that I have got the message across. I am judging this based on the fact that I feel all sort of glorious and drowsy and … oh, yes, that's the word. Relaxed.
- Normally I can manage better than this at sleeping in, but my uterus was suffering today, and apparently it didn't want to go through it alone. Bloody needy bit of plumbing is all I can say. [↩]
- If you're trying to punish a body for unearthly and illegal attempts at wakefulness, dim lighting is imperative [↩]