Ugh. I have done nothing today. Well, I did a load of laundry, and I read a bunch of Harry Potter 5 (yeah, I told you I've read them more than you). But what I haven't done is cook anything, write anything, or, well, anything. I took a nap of an undetermined amount of time. Maybe only an hour and a half, maybe as long as four hours. I have no idea what time it was when I fell asleep. And despite Adam's claims that it's a "sleep" if it's more than an hour, I was on the couch--the one in the living room, not the bedroom--so it's still a nap.
I hate days like this. Even more when I can't work myself up to feeling guilty about them. Especially since I get about 9 hours of sleep a night. A long nap is unnecessary. And I'm still tired now.
Additionally, I feel bloated. The cous cous I made (and I made enough to feed everyone starving in Sudan for a year) didn't taste salty, but clearly had my annual intake of salt in one serving. And because I made so much of it, that's all I ate today. Yay, heart disease. And boo for not sucessfully making a Morrocan style transcendent dish. Reasonably tasty, but nowhere close to my dreams of sweet and spicy and delicious.
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