I grabbed a sandwich from downstairs and ate and and stared around for the scant fifteen minutes I could grab before diving back into reading and editing, class prep and class prep, responding to and sending email, writing things down in my calendars. I totally buy the productivity book I’m reading, snagged in a fit of halp! from L.’s shelf, but he doesn’t account for the wall that you hit after a couple-few days of doing everything you said you would do when you said you would do it. What if the bulk of my soul is slothful? What then, Mister GTD? That plus a first read of a chapter that explained my predicament in terms of the invasive tentacles of unremitting late capitalism had me facing my lunch hour with grudging submission. Thank you, tentacularly invasive late capitalism, for this brief respite for lunch. Even though I know it counts as work too.
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