Why is it that instead of enjoying a four-day week, we try to cram 5 days' worth of work into it, leaving us wrung out and exhausted?
I've had a tough week -- up at 6am most mornings to write and home around 7:30 every night. Tonight I didn't get home until around 8:45. As a result I missed almost half the 20-20 cricket game I had planned to watch, and am now sitting here with my eyes falling out of my head.
The thing I like about 20-20 cricket is the way they mike up some of the players -- in this instance (as in others) they wired up Adam Gilchrist. Not only is he amusing and rather witty as an on-field commentator -- I don't know how he concentrates and talks at the same time -- but, being one of his last games, it was frought with emotion as well. The game didn't last as long as it shuld have, with Australia whomping India, but I'm glad I got to see Gilly bat and commentate at least.
I haven't written anything (fictional) at all today. This morning I simply couldn't drag myself out of bed, and tonight my brain is mush. In fact, my brain has been mush pretty much all day. I've had an absolutely mad day. One of those days when you hope nobody talks to you because you simply don't have time to answer them. One of those days when you find yourself staring at the screen, or a list, but simply not engaging with anything that is written there. You wait for something to click, but it's like your brain has frozen (like a computer does when it's overloaded). That was me today. (And now, if truth be told.)
(pauses to yawn) I really must go to bed now I think. Remind me to switch off the alarm.