When she woke up, it was late in the morning. The day stretched before her, a wide open plain with a sun already high in the sky. She laid there a bit longer, relishing in the feel of the sheets against her skin and the pillow under her head. Her body was sore and she stretched, got up, took a shower. Couldn't get the water just right, always too hot or cold. Water pressure was good. She hadn't washed off her makeup from the night before but now she did, wiped the eye liner smudge with a washcloth. Ran expensive shampoo through her hair. Followed it with equally expensive conditioner. Got out. Dried. Dressed. The dishes from dinner were still scattered around. Wine glasses. Pots and a cutting board and there was tomato sauce everywhere. She unloaded the dishwasher and reloaded it. Hand washed the pots, the cutting board, wiped down the counter. Put the wine glasses on the top rack. Turned over the pots to dry. Had a thought to grab the guitar pluck the lines she knew from Blackbird, but let it pass.
This was a lazy Sunday that would be filled with research and reading and maybe the Grammy's later.
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