Trying to plan what to do with this sliver of very productive time, the pre-10:00 am hour. The annoying and desperate part of my brain is pushing me to write, as if this is the last time I'll ever be able to. What I feel like doing is studying for an exam, the subject matter is fascinating. So it's raining and I'm going to sit here in the comfortable chair by the window with two dogs sleeping nearby and read through these notes. It occurs to me I'll get restless in maybe 25 minutes. My urges burn themselves out quickly. Then I'll be interested in writing and do it when it comes naturally. Writing will get old, and, naturally, I can move on to the next thing in the list with my full attention. If I force any one of these activities during a time when my natural energy for them is at its least, that activity will be so exhausting it will leave none left to do the others.
A successful man is like a piece of bamboo on the surface of rough water. Hollow of intention, he floats gracefully on the cresting waves of his undiagnosed A.D.D.
Minutia
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I've not moved. I kind of want to, but every time I think of some super
clever and unique name for a new blog, I check and find out it's not unique
at all....
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