I realize it's Sunday night and I've accomplished nothing. Not a damn thing. I can't even claim doing more than a single load of laundry--and I haven't even folded that load yet. Thank God for the hubby because without him I don't know that anything would have gotten done around this place this weekend.
I did finish reading the History-Book-from-Hell and started the paper that's due Tuesday. I'll finish it tomorrow night at the library while the oldest boy is getting tutored.
The truth is, though, that I don't want to do anything. I have no ambition. No drive. If blah were a feeling, that's how I'd say I feel right now. Blah. Bleh. Blek.
Could this be what depression feels like? I wonder. Two days off and all I want to do is curl up on the couch and watch hours and hours of mind-numbing television. I don't even feel like reading. Writing holds even less appeal.
But I force myself to do my homework at the very least.