April 21, 2002
Sunday

Everything seems hopeless tonight.

Reading back through the journal, it all sounds like crap. I've done nothing I'd hoped to do this weekend. I brought laundry. I brought pages to scan. I brought two books. I brought work. I even brought vegetables to cook!

I'm feeling the burden again of a million little things longing to be done, and a few big ones. It is so much easier to sleep. Much easier to watch television -- especially with evil places like the various discovery channels or sci-fi.

And it is much-much more fun to surf Amazon and add things to my wish list. To actually read or writing anything would take valuable time and then my day would be gone. But look! My day is gone now anyway. But, never mind that.

I can't focus.

Why do I have days like this? Even weeks like this, for that matter. Last week was a terribly unproductive week. There is a project for work that should be largely done tomorrow. It's not. Argh on it all.