The past two nights, I was supposed to go to night town meetings and crawled under the covers instead. I didn't feel all that guilty either time. When will I buckle down and do my goddamn job, trapped though I may be?
I wish every day was one long yoga class interspersed with flying trapeze stints, with time set aside each morning and night for reading, writing, chai and ice cream - and that I went home to sleep in my sunny studio apartment in the West 90s. Anyone want to join me in my dream? (Just get your own apartment.)