It’s nearly 8pm and I’ve been ready for bed for an hour. Or actually for 7 hours, but I couldn’t admit it to myself until an hour ago. Before I go to bed, though, I should eat dinner. But that would require getting up, and getting up doesn’t seem like a great idea, so maybe I’ll just wait for a while.

Of course, waiting isn’t likely to make me less worn out, and blood sugar is generally a useful thing to keep up. Still, no matter how much I explain that to myself, I can’t get my brain or my belly to acknowledge that they’re hungry, which reduces my motivation to get up. Which means that I haven’t eaten yet. Which means that I haven’t gone to bed yet.

I haven’t done anything else of use, either. I have a report I was going to work on tonight and a book that needs reading lest I fall behind in my book group. I have a bunch of blog reading to catch up on, too, but I haven’t done that either. No, instead I’ve been sitting here thinking about the fact that I can’t go to bed until I’ve eaten, but that I’m too tired to go eat.