I have tried in vain to concentrate on the work I have brought home to do this weekend, but my mind and my desires are elsewhere. I have appeased all the subtle distractions that vied so seductively for my attention, and now that Sunday is coming to a close, I am anxious about not spending the time tackling the three piles of paperwork that I had promised to tend to.
Even now, as I try to put into words the restless fog that has captured my mind and torn from me my ability to focus, I struggle to lay it down on the page. I pace, nibble on almonds, sip on wine, peer into the fridge to find something else to occupy some time and keep my hands from being idle, and still the work doesn't get done.
And all the stresses that seem to be so tightly interwoven into a web of tiresome concerns, refuse to be pulled apart one by one for my careful analysis. And I just can't seem to function today.
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