So much of whether I'm in a good mood or a bad mood is bound up in how many jobs and tasks and chores I've gotten done in the previous 12 hours, and I'm beginning to realize this bodes horribly for my plan to eventually retire in the woods and do mostly nothing.
It's like that chapter in Mark Twain's Letters From the Earth where Satan is describing what human men think heaven will be like and what they'll do there, and he's like, "of course, none of them like playing the harp or singing NOW. But they're all convinced they'll love it up there 🤷♂️"
