Toast

I love toast. From time to time I consider just LIVING on toast.  Me, toaster, fixins, and a big pile of books-I could read all day and never have to get off the couch!  (Yes, in my fantasy, I can move the toaster into the living room.  But not into the bedroom, because who wants to sleep on toast crumbs?)

But sometimes at the end of a busy day *I* am toast.

And not delicious golden brown toast made from artisan bread and carefully slathered in good butter and homemade jam.

Nope.  Toast that was left in too long, charred and curled up on the edges.  Then forgotten and cold.  Dry and nasty.

When I am toast, I lose my nouns and get snippy. No, not snippy.  I become a grumpy badger--desperate to be alone in my den.

The cure is not as simple as scraping off the burny bits (and to be fair, that's not really a solution for the toast I eat, either.)

Thankfully, lunch helps. A nap. Some quiet. Then silly movies and nothing especially taxing.

Tomorrow is my day off.  And I am so very glad.  A little bit of hibernation will do me good.
Maybe I'll have some toast.