I am experiencing information overload. I have a few hours to finalize some research for a presentation on Tuesday and my brain is just stuck. My picker seems to be broken and I am having a hard time choosing what to include and how to structure the presentation. This is not a huge assignment, but as the hours count down, I am having the familiar feeling of wanting to think about other things while these notes hang like cinderblocks from my brain’s legs. It feels like now would be the perfect time to do so many other things, in fact almost anything else, a dangerous thought on such a beautiful fall evening.

The seduction of that “anything else” has been a traditional skidmark in my skivvies; I often choose moments—baking pumpkin bread as the sun goes down, reading a book under the fan, the complete satisfaction of taking a nap with the radio on—instead of the larger goal, such as making money or passing that class. These choices have left me with many forgettable moments of reprieve, but very few blocks with which to build my life. As I get older this has become increasingly unacceptable, but still, here I am typing this instead of that.

Wish me focus, kids.