Warmth.

I find few things harder than getting up out of a warm bed, especially when surrounded by Murphy and the cats.

I wouldn’t want to disturb their slumber now, would I? Hell no, so this morning, I kept sleeping. Till I realized it was 12:30, and I thought that might be a decent time to wake up.

I’m considering going back to bed for a nap. Something about that warmth is just calling to me on this cold day. And I want to treasure this time I have now. I want to revel in it. Just me, just the animals in the quiet. Before we’re being woken by cries and on schedules.

To hell with schedules right now. And to hell, I say, with doing anything. I don’t care about the damn dryer or making a Christmas list. These things can wait.

Being can’t.

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