sore

All I want to do is sleep, my flesh is weak, my spirit is debilitated. I'm world champion in lie-ins and procrastinations so rest shouldn't be such a big deal. But the piles of paperwork, clothes and clutter in the volcanic- ashed atmosphere are staring me directly in the eye. I cannot run away from the quotidian undertakings. There is an entry in every day of the calendar. Stress is bad though, blogging is cathartic