You know, I feel as though 85% or more of my waking life (which is a lot of my life, considering how little I've been sleeping this year) is dedicated to trying to clear out the other 15% so I can get "my own" work done. You know, the kind that will actually get me through my degree program and get me a job, as opposed to the stuff I get paid for. Trouble is, I'm so exhausted by the time I get to that 15% that I can hardly move or think, much less do anything productive.
And then, there's always the odd little incident which interferes, too. For example, I was welcoming the three-day weekend with open arms, thinking about how much work I'd be able to get done: the major project for my student government post, the stacks of papers that need grading, at least three new pages on my prospectus, the rising tide of unanswered emails in several accounts . . . .
But now, my computer's operating system and keyboard have decided to go on strike. Oh, well.
Fortunately, Boy Roomie is being generous about the loan of his computer--and about being nice to me while I periodically lie on the (broken) couch in a fetal position--but I think it's safe to say that this will be a much less productive weekend than I'd hoped.