New Year's Day, traditionally, is a day for doing nuthin'. Unless you've been unwise enough to host a party, there's no real reason to get up at all, and even if you do get up, there's certainly no compulsion to get out of your pyjamas. All agreed on that, I'm sure. It's a day for luxuriating in indolence.
This year, January 2nd was a sort of bonus New Year's Day - as it always is in Scotland, my GoogleCalendar tells me - so I frittered that one away too, hanging out on MN, submerging myself in YouTube, making tea and eggs on toast, laughing haha at the laundry spilling out of the cupboard in the utility room and sending out for curry in the evening with the OH.
Of course, January 3rd was a Saturday. No sane person is going to feel moved to tackle washing-up on a Saturday. I mean, it's soaking in the sink, so it's practically washing itself. Also Sainsbury's are very happy to deliver stuff, so that's brunch, snack and dinner taken care of. And there's that David Attenborough thing on iPlayer, and it wouldn't be the first time an urban fox - or David - has seen me in my pyjamas.
Thing is though, I do have a whole lot of life admin to do, and suddenly it's Sunday, and the real year starts tomorrow. I feel a bit guilty for having slobbed three days on the trot. On the other hand, nothing's so vital that it wouldn't wait till...well...probably next weekend, though that's pushing it.
And I can smell bacon.
YABU: Of course it's unreasonable to feel guilty. You've earned a few days' downtime. Sod renewing the car insurance.
YANBU: It's not in the least unreasonable to spend another day doing fuck-all. We're all much too uptight about being productive. It's nearly lunchtime, open the Sauvignon.