Monday is tomorrow.
Somehow, something that I should have done a month ago is still on my desk. Perhaps tomorrow I can make it happen.
Somehow, the table is covered with stuff. Again. This seems to be a daily occurence.
Somehow, the laundry I was so dilligent about doing is clean, but still in the baskets. not folded, not put away.
The black darkness of a long day creeps over me and I am ready for sleep.
Monday will come. These things can wait.