|pajamas, cat, bed. this picture sums up my whole weekend.|
But did they get done? NOPE.
Because you know what happened? BOOKS happened. I read a book and a half in 24 hours. The Hunger Games, if you must know. I gave in. And when I wasn't reading books, I was watching Sherlock.
Which brings me to this next point: I don't even know what is REAL anymore. I have been wrapped up in my books or watching shows about murder mysteries in England. I have honestly had to remind myself what my real life is like. Yesterday I seriously had a moment where I caught myself panicking because I didn't think I could kill someone. And then I remembered I don't have to, and that The Hunger Games isn't real life.
That's the best part of spending two days reading. You completely check out of reality. I had a bad week last week, and spending two days engrossed in books and Netflix was the perfect cure. Why do people go to parties? Why do they go outside? Why would anyone on God's green earth socialize when there are THOUSANDS OF BOOKS TO READ.
My head was thoroughly confused today. While at work, I caught myself wondering if I'd be able to sleep in a tree too, and would I be able to function on so little food and water? I have hypoglycemia, dang it! And then after completely stressing myself out over my hypothetical death in the Hunger Games, Benedict Cumberbatch would pop into my head and hello! Must get home and watch Sherlock immediately!
I honestly believe that Benedict Cumberbatch is Sherlock. I cannot separate the two. I find myself wondering if I could move to London and help him solve his mysteries? Play the piano with him while he plays his violin? Move in with him and Watson? Surely they would like some estrogen that isn't Mrs. Hudson. Listen to british accents all day? Follow them around everywhere? I mean, yeah, James can come too if he wants. Am I taking it too far?!?!
Maybe I do need to start getting out more.
On second thought...nah. I'm good.