On Sunday night I go to bed, full of plans and resolutions for the week ahead of me: Things to accomplish, abstain from, correct in my heart. So why is it that every Monday morning I want nothing more than to stay in my bed, under my covers and try to forget what I have resolved?
Coffee anyone? I am on my third cup and so far it's done nothing to make me enthusiastic about the week ahead of me. It's indistinguishability from the weeks before is defeating me.
That and a certain toddler's rage that her brother wants to play monster-bowling in his room...alone.