Summer (still). Darkness with threads of light that sneak through the blinds. And the nap, that rare gift from the gods that the wicked seek to eliminate from the face of the earth for the sake of insufferable productivity...; that delicacy that can be savored before a good gazpacho to become lamb's nap, or after to become a royal pleasure.
Today is Saturday. Choose your tree and your novel. Try to read (no more than two pages). Wet the floor with the mop... and dream of angels who take you by the hand to places where those evil ones cannot reach. Sleep.