Running out of discipline

it's only 8:30.
the French text stares at me
balefully yellow print;
uncashed checks, bills,
responsibilities and habits worth
forming, but nothing gels.
the bed is not too far away and
looks soft and welcoming.
I know my friend is working,
but I don't have his discipline,
I throw the last crumbs to
the dog and go lie down
with my book.