Quite a number of things I wanted to say, but it's one of those moments when there's no zest in writing. So instead there's only the discipline of schedule. Hence, I borrow the words from another, this time Swinburne:
From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives forever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea.
No, no, I'm not feeling suicidal. Nothing like that at all. The day was simply...unproductive...but even then we should learn to relish those moments of ennui.
After all, there's only one life to live, eh?