What do you call it when you aren't particularly physically tired, but you don't want to do anything? When writing is anathema to you? When you pick up a book with more than 16 pages and toss it back down? When even your usual self-descriptors of "procrastinator," "works best under pressure," and "aspires to career student-hood" seem inadequate?
Is it a desire to owe Sallie Mae for the rest of your life cuz you won't hurry up and finish? Is it burn-out? Or is it that little ugly word that I'm whispering to myself... am I... (gasp)...LAZY?
The great Elle won't even contemplate such a patently untrue claim.
In lighter news, Sis and I discovered a new doughnut shop that reminds us of Southern Maid. And I know it's okay for us to go there and partake of the white-flour-and-refined-sugar sublimeness cuz guess what? It's across the street from our Curves! The proximity alone has to cancel out some of the fat and calories, right?