the early part of this week has been crazybusy, so having a day when i could stay home and actually get some work done felt like a gift. i worked well til about 2, kept at it until 4 and then thought, this is ridiculous. it's beautiful outside, i can't concentrate, i'm tired of working and i'm getting nothing done. what i really want to do is sit on the front porch and read.
then i thought, scandalously, why don't i? if i sit on the front porch and read a novel, nothing bad will happen. it was revolutionary, marvelous, scandalous.
i felt like i was part of a secret happiness club, a group of people who'd cracked the hard nut of joy for the sweetmeat inside.