Last night I was determined to finish the new Harry Potter book.
Exhaustion had other plans.
I passed out with only about 15 pages of the book left.
This morning after my shower I climbed back into bed and finished it up.
Now I'm melancholy and sad. It's ruined my whole day. The sky, even though it is is a brilliant clear blue, seems flat and dull. The fluorescent lights of my office beat down mercilessly on the tops of my keyboard caressing hands. The usually reassuring hum of my computer now mocks the emptiness of my chest cavity, the former repository of my heart.
JK Rowling is the DEVIL and has ensnared me with her poetic gift or story telling.
What the heck am I supposed to do with myself now!?!?!?