It's the summer hols at last. So I am writing this on my tiny PDA, from our luxury holiday yurt in the Maldives.
I'm trying to get a bunch of drawings finished, and generally trying to be more organised than has been my habit in the past. A few days ago, I applied myself to organising piles of paper into themes, and doing something about them. I even managed to write some Important Letters. Then I completed a drawing. It was now 9:45 pm. It had been a productive day, but something wasn't quite right. "Twenty third of June," I kept thinking. I knew it was something significant.
Then I remembered that it was Brendagh's birthday. And it was now too late to do anything about it.
I felt very annoyed with myself, and a bit worried about the state of my memory.
We were talking, the next day, about the difficulties of being self-motivated and about that sense of oppression you get when you've got a pile of work that needs to be done and you keep putting off, and the sense of relief you get when you have actually done at least some of it. Brendagh described it as like having live frogs around the place (she is a cat owner, which may account for the choice of metaphor). We agreed that first thing in the morning is a good time to clear away a few tasks. "Eat five live frogs before breakfast," as she put it.
So that can be the thought for the day.