I wrote a humongously long post (for another venue) and then had to spend 20 minutes editing it down to a reasonable size this morning. What with one thing and another, I'm playing Timecard Catch-up, trying to figure out how to code that time.

I am not by nature a liar. I need to either quit blogging on company time or become more comfortable with lying about how I spend my time at the office.

I have a huge envelope full of stuff to send Rapunzel, so I have to dash to the Post Office at lunch, here in just a couple of minutes. I have a check I need to deposit but since I forgot to bring it with me today, I can't. I didn't clean the kitchen floor last weekend and now I can practically feel the germs multiplying and electing a government in preparation for taking over the refrigerator. I need to write my rent check and I can't remember if I've paid my credit card bill or not.

Sometimes I feel as though my indifference to the petty details of life that most adults are conscientious about doing promptly is catching up to me and about to drag me under.

When I'm not bemoaning my inadequacies as a functioning member of society, I've been pondering the previously mentioned NaNoWriMo effort that I was considering turning into an actual novel.

I can't make up my mind. It's a story I'd read if someone else wrote it, but do I have the creativity, focus, and determination to actually write an entire original novel myself?

And, as an obsessive-compulsive personality type, is it really wise of me to get involved in creating a fictional world, involved to a degree that's only going to aggravate my current lack of focus on my job? (Or my probable upcoming lack of focus on job-hunting?) After whining yesterday about how I forgot a work thing I was supposed to do over the weekend, I went home last night and promptly forgot something I really needed to do late in the evening.

It's clear that my lack-of-focus problem is already pretty extreme, so the novel-pondering is really all tied in with my lack of maturity. The fact that I spent a lot of the evening playing with my GameBoy is just icing on the cake, you know?

Life is full of imponderables today.

The problem is that I chose to remain single and childless in my life because when I've weighed maturity and responsibility against having fun at intervals in my life, having fun always seemed like a wiser way to spend the few, precious years available to me.

I didn't actually think of it that way. Mortality is a concept I've only recently become acquainted with.

More accurately, I always figured there'd be time and a reason to grow up at some later date. But now, as I approach the milestone birthday of 35 (Ed. Ummm. Me, Shaddup.), I begin to see that later dates are not in unlimited supply.

I wonder what mature, responsible adults do in their spare time? Or do they have no spare time because doing everything promptly and completely and then keeping an accurate record takes up all their spare time?

(Deleted - interval in which I bemoan how I am a burden on society, in spite of the fact that I'm employed, self-supporting, non-criminal, and intermittently thoughtful of others.)

I was in a good mood a little while ago. I wonder where it went?

I wish Bernie wouldn't call and ask me for instructions on how to use the product. I send him with the same instruction sheet I use. I do not have secret knowledge that I am hiding from him. And, again, I'm mystified by how someone can be president of a company for five or six years and be so entirely ignorant of its products.

He has also finally decided that since DiamondGirl is unaccountably reluctant to devote all of her free time to doing work for this company - work he said we didn't have enough of, we all remember, to keep her on-staff full time for - he will move the last of our major projects that she's been doing to a new platform so that I can do it, instead.

Fortunately my desk is well-supplied with chocolate.

Pause....

Okay, I went to the Post Office.