It’s quiet in the house tonight. Robert is in the back room watching TV. The cats are on the wicker settee here behind me. In case I get up and wander into the kitchen, they want to be the first to know. The street is quiet. I don’t even have any music on while I type this.
I got to work right before 9AM today. And I’m driving in these days, not taking the bus. (I got a monthly contract in the subterranean garage attached to our building.) So what is my excuse.
Malaise? Spring fever. I just don’t want to be at work. And when I get there, I feel distracted. I’d rather surf the net or do just about anything. It’s slow, document-wise, right now. So I have to finish up my piles of filing. It shouldn’t take that long. Normally, I would relish the task. I feel a sense of satisfaction seeing the files, labels neat, my filing bin empty. But lately, I just look at the papers and piles and mess and shut off my computer and go home, thinking… “I’ll get to that tomorrow.” Just like I say to myself every night before I go to bed, “I’ll get to work on time tomorrow.”