The satisfaction of doing this is small at best. Even this simple task is too big for me, takes more effort than I'm willing to give it. Though some paper made it into files and into the cabinet, still more lies in piles behind me. It's a pretty apt metaphor.
Woke up late this morning and had to dash off to work before I could shave. My unkemptness is probably suitable.
I'm OK. I'm just not happy, and that happens sometimes. Maybe I'll stop running.