So. Freaking. Tired. The ups and downs of dating are exhausting. It's like a never-ending exercise regime where there's unfamiliar music playing in the background and you can't tell when you're supposed to be running and when you're supposed to be resting and the whole thing begins to seem suspiciously like musical chairs but you don't know who your partner is or whether you're even supposed to have one.
With all that craziness, therefore (which isn't completely unenjoyable, just a strain on the out-of-shape dating form), I am drawing up a contract with myself for tonight. I get all jumpy and edgy and forget how to rest.
Tonight's strict itinerary: I will:
1. Go home immediately following post-work tutoring session.
2. Change into fluffy flannel pajamas.
3. Reheat leftovers for dinner.
4. Eat said leftovers in front of television, preferably Die Hard.
5. Once leftovers have been consumed, move TV into bedroom for temporary indulgence in utter decadence (existence usually being spartan books-only activities in bedroom) of sprawling full length in bed having brains turned to mush by mindlessly violent films of choice.
6. Turn the lights out, roll over and go to sleep no later than 10:00.
I will not:
1. Worry about mountains of unwashed clothes.
2. Bother myself about dishes cluttering the sink.
3. Try to rectify spacially challenged disaster in four of the five rooms of my house.
4. Entertain any thoughts or feelings of guilt whatsoever for Nos. 1-3; there's always tomorrow and I'm really really tired.
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