On the Third Day

I didn't expect to already be pushing through a wall, but I am. I'd like to say it's because I've worked more and slept less than I should have over the past several days, but I don't know that I can really chalk it up to just that. Even now, I'm tempted to delete the very words I'm typing. Because what I have to say is not nearly interesting or profound enough. In moments like these I wonder whether the struggle is about not having anything to say at all or about being afraid to say something meaningless. I'm not sure which is worse.

But enough of the self-conscious crap. I made the decision I needed to. Eventually I'll stop talking about this thing I'm doing and will just do it. Tomorrow will be better.

Time past and time future
Allow but a little consciousness.
To be conscious is not to be in time
But only in time can the moment in the rose-garden,
The moment in the arbour where the rain beat,
The moment in the draughty church at smokefall
Be remembered; involved with past and future.
Only through time time is conquered.
(from "Burnt Norton" in T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets)