I decided to give myself the day off today, so to speak. No gym, I cleaned my apartment last night and I'm doing laundry tomorrow. All I had to do was bake the buns when I got up.
Of course, I got up a full hour earlier than I had hoped I would. The buns are almost done baking. Sadly, half of them fell during the overnight rise. Guess I shouldn't have put the tea towels over the pans? (Update: the flat buns taste just fine. Though, I still prefer the look of the nicely rounded ones.) They seem a wee bit tough, but I've already eaten two (make that three), so I think they turned out. Not bad for a first try.
So, I have to wash dishes and shower. And then ... what the hell am I going to do the rest of the day? I have comics to read, and a couple of books. There are shows on the DVR and a Dirty Jobs marathon on Discovery. I could give myself a pedicure. The Twins play at 3:00 and I might hang out with The Boy I Currently Like later on today.
I guess that seems like enough to keep me busy. If I had more butter, I'd probably do some more baking. Why can't I just be lazy on a gray, rainy Saturday? There's something about a full day of nothing to do that makes laziness seem unappealing. There's something wrong with me, I think.