Since I worked so hard getting clutter under control yesterday, I treated myself to an afternoon of reading a novel. Like I mentioned in an earlier post (Reading Pig) I cannot put a novel down once I start. Thankfully the book wasn't super thick, because I didn't get started reading until after lunch, but I finished in time to make supper.
Now I am paying the price with sore eyes--both from the reading and from crying. Dang! Why did I select a sad novel?
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