It's not that I'm suffering from writer's block or anything queer like that, it's just that there's a lot going on in the office and in life. The difficult thing for me, when it comes to writing, is making sense of all these little red and white ideas hanging down from the ceiling like origami birdies. I'd prefer to spend my entire day writing.
I don't know how this works I'm guessing it's just some sort of the usual, run-of-the-mill collective (un)conscious pinging internet magic but if you take a look at the bottom of any one of the pages on the Stereophile website, you'll find a list of "Sponsored Links," seemingly appropriate to the page itself.
When I think about how I spent my time this weekend eating and drinking with friends, listening to music, watching the Giants beat the Cowboys to gain sole possession of first place in the NFC East I really have no complaints. These are all great things. Why then, when you ask me how my weekend was, do I sigh and say: "It was okay, I guess"?
A problem:
I spent much of this long holiday weekend feeling guilty about not doing any work. I don't really like long weekends. They mess me up, make me feel out of sorts, ill at ease.