Whenever I have a day off, I spend a lot of it drifting in and out of consciousness. My dreams aren't especially memorable these days, though; maybe I'm fooled enough by how boring and mundane they are to think I'm living my life instead of hiding in bed. It's only upon closer scrutiny that the details reveal themselves to be slightly off.
I went to see The Girl On The Train with a friend this afternoon; we had been trying to meet up for a little while. The movie was alright (nice job by Emily Blunt), it was good to see Bethany again, and it was a decent excuse to get out of the apartment, though once that was done, I didn't have any desire to stick around downtown for Nocturne, and didn't feel up to going anywhere but home. I'm starting to get a cough and my back's been bothering me all day, but I think what I really need this weekend is some alone time.
I've been finding it harder to read lately, or at least get myself lost in books. Maybe I just want to project the image of a voracious reader to impress people. Maybe that's my underlying motivation for a lot of things.