Back to work

As I come to the end of my winter break I have come to a revelation about myself and about the little life that I have created for myself. I am a closet lazy person. Honestly, I am perfectly content sitting on my ass doing absolutely nothing for hours on end. Sad.
I came to this realization yesterday afternoon as I was, surprise, sitting on my couch reading a very warm and lovely book. Back in December I had an entire list of activities that I wanted to engage in once I returned from Tennessee. I was going to go ice skating and walk around Macy's and have my brows threaded, perhaps shop for exotic vegetables in Chinatown and finally explore every nook of the Village, maybe convince Michael to catch a train to anywhere out of Grand Central. But no, none of these things happened.
I did however make cupcakes, snuggle with my puppies, read two very good books, and take an exorbitant number of much needed naps. Decadence defined.
This used to bother me. I seemed to always be trying to make myself be something I am so obviously not. I thought that since I live in this city that never stops that I had to be one of the crazies who also never stop. That's insane! I enjoy being home. I love to sit curled on my couch wrapped in a blanket with a delicious cup of home brewed coffee petting my dog's head. And what is wrong with that? In any other part of the country this would be heaven. It's only here, in the land of the freaks, that I am seen as abnormal. That people look at me and think, "Ahh, poor her, she doesn't take advantage of all that this shit-hole city has to offer." Yeah, poor me, I am safe and warm and well fed and in a nice clean, sterile apartment surrounded by my pets and my husband, yeah, poor me. There are enough crazies on the streets already. I feel I am doing a public service by keeping myself inside, because honestly, I am just as crazy as the rest of them.