I so want to make a lot of things. This desire (at three in the afternoon) does not reflect my drive to actually make things when I arrive home at 6 in the evening. Last night, for instance, I wanted to:
1) make another book bag,
2) reconstruct a brown blouse I bought off eBay,
3) take pictures of my book thongs,
4) make a pillow out of an old sweater since I now have stuffing,
and 5) sew wristlets.
I started on the brown blouse but I didn’t finish it. I went downstairs, watched f.r.i.e.n.d.s., ate pancit canton, hard-boiled egg, and French toast. In other words, I was unproductive and getting fat.
Look at this:
Why is this day moving so slow?