Lost In My Own World

I so look forward to Fridays, not because the weekend is coming (there is no such thing as a weekend when you have milkers), but because I DVR a couple of favorite, wildly divergent programs on Thursday night.  I give myself an hour of R&R after barn chores and on Fridays I watch "Father Brown," an Agatha Christie-type of English mystery on PBS.  It lacks blood and gore with civilized murders and is full of nice people.  "Father Brown" could not be farther from "The Blacklist," in which there are few to no nice people and mayhem abounds, but I like it too.  They're my Friday treat.

I made a mistake yesterday when, instead of getting up to tackle the To-Do list after my respite, I picked up "End Of Watch," the last in a Stephen King trilogy I'd been enjoying.  I'd been so good about doling out chapters instead of starting and finishing a book in a day as I've been known to do so I was only halfway through.  With good intentions, yesterday I thought, "Well, I'll just read until noon," and then, "Okay, maybe until 1."  And, "I'm already late getting started, so I'll stop at 2."  When King hits the mark, he writes a page-turner for sure and he sucked me in on this one.  I turned the last page at 2:30 and let out the breath I'd been holding in a long sigh.  Bessie Anne had been patiently waiting for me to take her outside on a beautiful day, so I came out of the world of imagination and we went out together to enjoy the real world.

Funny thing, all those chores on the To-Do list are still there waiting.  I sort of hoped the book fairies would help me out there, but no.