I don't get it. It's not like I am out late partying every Saturday night. Yes, I went to a potluck last night. I was still home and in bed by 11:30 p.m.
It's a Sunday afternoon thing. I feel like I've been run over by a truck. This happens most Sunday afternoons, it seems. I decide I need to go lie down. I do. Ten minutes later I think I never want to get up again.
The body knows, maybe, that there's this one little chance, between coming home from church and starting Sunday dinner, to catch up on all the rest missed out in the whole previous week, to get ready for Monday and the start of a new to-do list. I probably should put the little netbook away and close my eyes and let it become a real nap, in time for that nap to be a whole hour long.
The kids, worn out from riding bicycles and playing at the park, are playing computer games; Mark is putting the snow tires on the van; nobody needs anything from me for a little while. I should make the most of it.
bearing blog 