The opposite of doing stuff

My cat Seca is insane. Seriously, there might be something wrong with her. Plus I think she ate a chicken bouillon cube this morning - she knocked it off the counter when I mistakenly turned my back for one second and now it's gone. I smelled her breath and it doesn't smell like chicken so who knows where the hell it is. Probably in a shoe. Everything winds up in a shoe in this house.

So yesterday I got a wild hair and bought a crockpot because I simply don't have enough crockery cooking in my life. This morning I threw a bunch of shit in it from my cupboard and freezer and we'll see if it's edible in about six hours. It's a three-day weekend and I have effectively done nothing, because the weather is for shit and I have a raging case of the blues and all I want to do is read and nap and flip through channels. I wonder if today will be the day that I go get more WonderBoxes for the cat box? Hm. I wonder.

At least I'm doing some laundry. I have trash to take out and the crockpot box to recycle and the kitchen counter has a bunch of crap on it and my bedroom needs vacuuming and Seca is flipping out all over the living room and I'm pretty sure that after I finish this up I'll just go back to the couch and continue reading.

Yep, I'm pretty sure that's what I'll do.