Old Ennui

So, it's Sunday morning.  I didn't sleep all that well - too hot, or I slept too much yesterday, or whatever.  But here I am at 8:30 on a Sunday morning.

The problem is, although I'm awake, I'm not motivated to do a damn thing.  I have two hours before I would need to leave to go to Zumba at the Y, which I definitely should do and totally don't want to do.

I did unload and reload the dishwasher.  Go, me.  Seriously, I fucking hate unloading the dishwasher.  Hate. Hate with the death of a thousand fiery suns.

Fuck you.

But now, I'm in the den, which is a mess, and I can't seem to work up the fortitude to clean it.

I have a pile of laundry in the dining room, calling out to me to fold it...meh.

There's a package of thank you notes sitting next to me that I need to be writing, addressing and getting in the mail, stat.  That's not happening, either.

I know that if I were to un-ass myself, and get started on something, I'd feel better.

But I don't want to.

Far easier to surf the web for the khaki pants I might want to order come payday.  Or re-check Facebook to see if anything new and interesting has been posted since I last checked 45 seconds ago.  Or sit here and contemplate taking a shower, brushing my teeth, getting dressed and hitting Kroger.

Heh.  Not happening.

Clearly, I'm dealing with a little depression.  So I know that getting dressed and going to Zumba is a good move.  Writing the thank you notes and mailing them is a must, and for the love of all that is holy, yes; yes I'll get some food in the house.

I also need to locate the source of what smells like a tomcat who marked something in the house.

I hate playing "Find The Smell".

Onward and upward, yo.