It's late, I've worked all day, yawning is infectious and writing is boring. I want to be asleep sooooo bad right now.
It's an option, too. I could very easily flip down this monitor, pack away the laptop, set an alarm, and promise myself I'll do tomorrow the things I promised myself I'd do today. As opposed to your regular, garden-variety, back-out-and-you'll-pay-for-it contract, promises to myself are much easier to break. In the courtroom of self-accountability where the judge, jury, and defendant are all the same person, crimes tend to go unpunished. We give ourselves passes and second chances and the benefit of the doubt, excusing our iniquities by calling them unavoidable.
That's dumb. Taking it easy on yourself is for pussies.
I'd much rather be unconscious right now but I made a freakin' commitment, so here's my shitty little posting for the night. Sure a more rested me might have come up with a more interesting read by the morning, but this tiny, greed turd of a blog is better. It's less ideal than perfect, more real than a promise. Whatever I'd have written tomorrow would still be too late to matter.
And when all else fails: brevity, brevity, brevity.
Day 34. TFR. SYT.
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