Writing Recovery.

I stayed up too late last night. I should have tossed it in and gone to bed; I wasn't getting much done.  Five total hours of "writing" for less than 200 words of progress. I stayed up until midnight, which I consider medium-late.  Not crazy late. I had thought, in light of my recent decisions on sleep that I should get to bed by 11 pm. But nooooo. I kept trying.

This morning, at 7:15 am, I woke up. And I could not get back to sleep. So I got up. Grumpy and foggy and my brain full of the bleak scenarios it always concocts when I'm exhausted. 

But thankfully, the house was quiet.  SK was still asleep. MM made coffee when he heard me moving around upstairs (he's a morning person, unlike me, and is usually up early on Saturdays.) I took coffee and my little bowl of pecans (this is my breakfast lately) into the living room to read for awhile. 

I don't just sit and read very often at all, because the minute I sit down, SK either 1) needs something she can't deal with or do herself or 2) starts talking to me.   But I neeeeeeeeed to do it.  It's good for me. It feels good physically (I am not a daytime nap-taker.) 

And my east and north facing living room, despite lacking exactly the right chair for me (someday! someday!), is a pleasant place to be, especially in the morning. 

Trashed with books is the best kind of trashed, isn't it?