Maybe tomorrow

She stumbled upon her truth: falling forward and spilling her wine. Unsure at first what it was, what dare trip her up while she toddled through the house dreaming into gulps. Her eyes scanned the room at the piles of clothes and the scattered toys, the buzzing dishes and the dusty exercise bike until her gaze met her feet and there it was:

Her truth:

Her procrastination.

She’d need more wine.

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