It might just be me, but I've always thought there was something poetic about the number seven. Seven days in a week, seven deadly sins, seven tears, dog years....
It's funny because I've been so much more productive and have been reading a lot more because every time I find I want to smoke a cigarette, I pick up a book. I read an entire novella today and posted a review, am on the verge of finishing another book, and have a whole stack of books that I can still read sitting to the right of me.
I don't think I've read this much since I was pregnant with my oldest daughter... lol, gee, wonder what happened?
It feels nice to feel like I have enough time to do the things I want to do. I was constantly feeling like I couldn't get everything done. Who knew it was because I was spending so much time inhaling smoke?