Ok, that might be a lie.
Yes, I want a Grandma Garden, but why would I want to be outside digging in the dirt when I can be inside here, with you people?
I want to take my puppy for a walk and explore my new little town some more, but I’d much rather sit inside wrapped in a blanket watching Season 2 of Game of Thrones for the 4th time.
Why would I risk getting skin cancer by hanging around outside on this beautifully sunny day when I have a perfectly comfortable bed asking me to join it for a nap or two?
I’m not really an outside person, as much as I love the outdoors once I actually go OUT the door.
I am, however, a super lazy fucker who has occasional bouts of initiative. Hell, yesterday I cleaned the house, did the dishes, raked TWO planters out, painted the front entryway, got supper ready for the grill, and mowed the back yard. I even had time to play with myself and take a shower. (Not at the same time, because it gets pretty slippery in the shower.)
Today, I have used the excuse that it was cold and dreary outside, so I stayed inside and read the book I’ve been reading for three months. (It really is a good book, I just get distracted easily.) Then I used the excuse that I have to work tonight, so I deserve to be a lethargic piece of shit. Too, I have (truthfully) told myself that if I spend too much time outside, I will end up with tan lines and wrinkles.
When did I start feeling bad about wanting to read? ‘Tis not a waste of time, (despite what non-book people say) so why do I feel like I have to justify sitting for four hours reading by cleaning house or doing laundry? Why must I say to myself, “Self! You stay busy now!” when really all I want to do is nap. Showering? If I didn’t worry so much about stinking, that would probably be the chore I cut out of my day. It’s probably a good thing my metabolism is alright, because otherwise I’d be sitting on my super-fat ass in front of the boob-tube not doing a goddamn thing.
So I shamefully admit now that I kinda just don’t want to do anything right now. And the weather has nothing to do with it.
This is the reason I haven’t finished writing my book.