Friends don't let friends drown in the quotidian

Oh, yeah.

Never mind.

The thing about blogs ("Web logs," remember?) is how easy it is to share your grand ambitions and your deepest doubts with the world. The thing about keeping a journal is, if you don't review from time to time, you can forget when you're treading water over the same territory.

Yesterday was a "deepest doubts" day, bigtime. Thankfully, friends sometimes remember things that have slipped your mind. Just a couple of comments yesterday, and the upside of my head is properly slapped and we're heading back on track.

"Tell me what I'm missing; how do I reorder the hours to get things done?" I asked, and Sunni pointed out I'm not missing anything, I just need to reorder the hours. And then good old reliable anonymous — how does that guy/gal find the time to write so much? — delivered the coup de grace: "Does this mean the terrorist quotidian has won?"

Ah, the quotidian. The routine. The drab. The sucker of life from many a Great American Novel and symphony. The thing I declared would not stop me. By golly, Andy, it almost stopped me.

So, the big challenge for today is not "how do I find time to do these?" It's "where do I start." Let's see — the last thing I wrote over here was "After all, the safest place in the world is inside a cage, where no one can reach through the bars to harm you." And the last thing I wrote over there was "'Peacekeepers have arrived,' Marilyn said. 'The governor’s office says about 1,200 sailors have been deployed around the encampment. They’ll be landing at the spaceport in a few minutes.'”

Man. Which one to grab first?

Thanks, friends, for not letting me whine for more than a day. I was drowning and let out a wail, and you threw me a rope. I don't know how to thank you. Oh, yes, I do: I can finish the books.