Tomorrow.

My mood is embodied by the french press sitting on my window sill beside Angela's cactus. It contains used coffee grounds that must be at least a week old. It is easy to lose a french press filled with old coffee grounds among other dishes, sunshine and copious amounts of reading regarding the origins of the Soviet Union. The presence of the dirtied giver of caffeine is, however, oppressive and it nags me from across the room. But, I am feeling uninspired. So instead of taking it downstairs to be emptied and washed, I will mope. Then I will scold myself for moping and stare unproductively at my To-do list. Instead of folding the clothes on my bed, I will loathe them and curse them for the wrinkles they will have accumulated by the time I wear them. Today, instead of forcing optimism, I will allow myself to be utterly frustrated.

But just for today.

Tomorrow, I will rise as determined as a Maya Angelou poem (only without the rich personal and cultural history of her conviction).

Tomorrow I will be she who:

sets about her work vigorously;

her arms are strong for her tasks.

...

opens her arms to the poor

and extends her hands to the needy.

...

is clothed with strength and dignity;

she can laugh at the days to come.

speaks with wisdom,

and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

...

(knows) Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;

but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.