Why is it that it takes all the energy in my bones to get up on Monday mornings? It's not like I had such an eventful weekend that I am exhausted this morning, but I really want to be in bed. It might be that it's 30 degrees outside and windy and my fingers are so cold that I can barely feel the keyboard as I type.
I just had some caffeine. There. Better. I can open my eyes now.
Last night (after the Super Bowl and Grey's Anatomy), I started reading A Million Little Pieces by James Frey. Yes, he's a fraud and I can't believe I bought his bought (therefore buying into the whole Oprah-Frey hype), but I read the first page on Amazon and was kind of intrigued. Anyway... it's not too bad thus far I can definitely see myself reading into the wee hours of the morning. Mr. Gringo Extraordinaire (MGE) is going to kill me with all the late night reading in bed. I can't help it, though, it's where I feel most comfortable reading.