Mark this as the first day I didn't really do anything toward my goal. I have changed my schedule at work so that I am working 10-hour days to allow for my having Friday off to write. That's a clever trick, I hope, but it means I am pretty mentally tired at the end of a day and have very little time in which to do anything.
Basically, I have just three hours between getting home and needing to go to bed. Within that time I had to eat and do laundry, and Jenn and I watched a little television. I don't want to sound like I'm making excuses –– after all, making excuses is what results in one never achieving one's goals –– but at the same time I don't feel terribly upset that I didn't really do anything today.
Perhaps I should. Perhaps that is exactly my problem: that I am not hard enough on myself.
Not constructively hard enough, at least. I am always quick to rip myself apart with abuse, but that doesn't often result in action. Perhaps I try to cover my laziness up with self hate? I don't know. I am too tired at the moment to really analyse it. But suffice to say, I hope to be able to say tomorrow that I have indeed done something.