Why am I not inspired to be writing?
It’s the laziness.
I felt it last night.
No I didn’t.
I was going to call people that I hadn’t talked to in a while… but then decided not to waste more of my daytime minutes and wait until 9.
By nine I figured most people didn’t want to be called?
I read instead.
It’s a book – paper back novel – by Agatha Christie – one of my favorite writers, featuring the splendid little Belgian detective Hercule Poirot. There is a murder to be solved. I’m half way through the book. Will most likely finish the second half tonight. The host of a party who liked to dress as Mephistopheles was killed while his guests were playing bridge. Who did it!? Can she write the word Mephistopheles one more time? Or make one more reference to what a character the host was? He lived dangerously, was a collector, of many things… including… murderers.
Dun Dun Duhnnnnn!
Oh and I baked cookies too. Not too complicated since they came from a box (which I might add is very unusual for me.) I brought them to work today and labeled the clear plastic container "Cookies are for sharing!" They'll most likely be gone by the time I leave work today.
Now here I am at work. Just finished my latest project. Waiting for lunch and walking. Wondering where last evening went and why I didn’t do more. Why haven’t I been doing more while I’m at home. I have all this time, this space, this freedom and I just want to lie around in bed. Dreaming.