The only body part firing yesterday was my brain. I guess that organ takes minimal blood cells to function properly. This may be debatable.
I spent most of the day sitting, chatting on the phone and writing. I wrote a letter to President Obama about some policy issues as they currently affect me and my family. At one point, I got off the couch and took a shower, and then went on a slow walk with my husband. The couch beckoned once more, and there I remained parked for most of the afternoon. Time passed extremely quickly for some reason, and before I knew it my husband was back from shopping and my sons home from school/practice. It was time to move on to the next room, where I draped myself over my chaise and demanded tea and crumpets. We were fresh out of crumpets so I had a biscuit.
My husband made dinner and I read a little. I listened to all four sides of Stevie Wonder's Songs in the Key of Life. I even read the liner notes (yes, I'm talking records here; we actually have a turntable). This was good for the soul. Thanks, Stevland.
I managed to stay conscious until roughly 9 pm. What I don't understand is, if I'm essentially doing nothing, moving oh so slowly through the day, why is time speeding up? It's a conundrum wrapped inside a paradox parading as an enigma.