It's Wednesday. It's cold. My attempts last night to sleep were somewhat fruitless. I thought I was keeping my negative vibes in, but since Scott (who has the day off) scuttled off to the coffee shop with drawing pad in hand before he even had a chance to eat breakfast makes me wonder if I'm just oozing with negative aura. It doesn't matter, now, I suppose. It's just me and my books.
I've got a long day of reading. I'd told my adviser that I wanted to tackle my last chapter with a new book. We agreed on The Blind Assassin (Margaret Atwood is the focus of my study), but I'm finding it a slow slog. Possibly because it's been a while since I've read anything longer than a chapter or article. Possibly because it just reminds me of The Stone Angel (Margaret Laurence: equally Canadian). Since I'm still afraid of bed and their related bugs, my reading spot is not stretched out on a bed with nests of pillows, but will be an overstuffed arm chair (I realize the distinction in discomfort isn't readily apparent: please believe me when I tell you that the chair is less comfortable, mainly when one accidently falls asleep with book in hand). The last thing I want is to have a belt digging into my ribs, the itch of a sweater on the arm pit, or a pant leg riding up.
Yesterday was all about dressing for me: Today is all about dressing for comfort.
this video and see if you can watch it without smiling - and I don't even know who the baby is!!)