Wednesday, October 26, 2005
I have to write something
I don't know what I want to write about. Not much on my mind right now, except that I don't want to pack, clean, move, etc.
Why do I dread something so simple, so much? If you compare cleaning one's house to the stresses of work or the mounds of homework I had when I was in school, you would think I would be all over the cleaning.
Yet, no. I would rather work an 18 hour day at work rather than clean my office for one hour.
It makes no sense. I must assume, therefore, that my brain is broken.
There you go, I wrote something.
Why do I dread something so simple, so much? If you compare cleaning one's house to the stresses of work or the mounds of homework I had when I was in school, you would think I would be all over the cleaning.
Yet, no. I would rather work an 18 hour day at work rather than clean my office for one hour.
It makes no sense. I must assume, therefore, that my brain is broken.
There you go, I wrote something.
