I am still sitting on the couch, laundry sits in the washer, done.
The windows are glittering from rain likely freezing. The cats groom each other, and the dog nestles against me, with deep, warm sleepy breathing.
And I am still sitting here.
Some poet said, "It is late. I lack courage." Or something like it.
I can't recall who said it, but the words run through my head.
A few more breaths, and I will myself up, and to bed.