Let’s talk about what I did yesterday.
I didn’t watch Netflix. I didn’t go to the apartment complex pool party (which, in truth, I forgot about). I didn’t partake in tax-free weekend. I didn’t see the sun.
Basically, what I did, was nothing.
I spent my Saturday (and most of my Friday night, too) in bed. I woke up Saturday morning and decided I did not want to get out of bed or wear pants. Less like decided, more like refused. See, other than a couple trips to the store, I have not interacted with real, physical people since Monday. That’s a long time. And it’s harder than you think. It got me a little down.
The result was 34 hours in bed, 35 hours without pants.
I read until I fell asleep. I slept until I woke up. I did it all over again. I think that’s a new low. I think staying in bed for that amount of time could diagnose depression. I think it makes me a little bit of a freak, and a definite loser. But only for this weekend.