Welcome to your Day of Rest, aka A Brief Opportunity to Catch Your Breath Before You Have to Jump Back On the Hampster Wheel. Me, I prefer to call this Mulling Day -- the only 24-hour period in which the long list of Haftas takes a breaks, and something from the Wanna pile gets to slip into the mix.
The trick in life, of course, is to minimize your Haftas and maximize your Wannas -- a truth known by the ancients, which is to say, known by Trump, by Clinton, and by your boss, for example, and by any hyper-hormonal teenage spawn in your roaring, throbbing, pulsating vicinity.
Meanwhile: Here, as for you, most likely, the Wannas are always quite modest, and in the same general way the Haftas are not, and are instead brazenly, openly immodest: the demand for food, water, shelter, medical care, and basic creature comforts (think heat during winter, clean clothes, and a shower once in a while) perpetually hog the first five slots, never sleeping, always alert for openings in which to pounce and capture, while niceties such as entertainments, visits with family and friends, and maybe a movie or a nap, are always at the opposite pole of those activity lists.
Despite the mad, rampaging behemoth of one list's constant stampede, and the microscopic, darting creep of the other list's sporadic scurry, other truths remain impressed on me: The benefit of attempting to pay attention, and trying to figure out what things might mean.
Sometimes, owing to operator limitations and the lack of access to a supercomputer between my ears, this leads to moodiness and depression. Other times, I feel as Ogg must have, putting one pebble or stone into the dust and muck, and mulling over an early math operation involving a combining of items -- a count of that one chuck of rock with another.
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