I'm not sure how I want to critique myself, so for the time being I'll just report.
I got up without hesitation, prepared quickly, and managed to read a thought-provoking article in the Economist while eating my breakfast. Then I biked to work and did my job well. I stopped at the bank to make a deposit on the way back, cleaned the bathroom, made dinner (tonight's pad thai was the best one I've ever made), packed up my old cell phone to send back to Sprint, did a round of eastern-style calisthenics, sat down to read Emerson for 15 minutes, straightened-up the room for a bit, participated in the Best Of Annapolis annual on-line poll, e-mailed my dad hotel information for my family's trip down here, looked up car information, and now I'm writing this. After I'm done I'm going to work on my book until 10:20, take care of my dental hygiene, and then go to bed. While I've been on the computer I've listened to Ravel's String Quartet and Dvorak's 8th symphony. It's been lovely. I also listened to Smetana's Moldau, which is the most intense piece of music I've ever heard, at least the beginning of it (I thought that the first time I heard it, and I still do). Yo Dan, remember how I said a few summers ago that if we had an apartment together I would start each day by blasting GZA and jumping around the place shouting and getting pumped up? I'd still do that on some days, but for days that I really needed a kick in the ass, I would blast the Moldau. Check that shit out. My biggest criticism of myself today is that I wasn't decisive about prioritizing my tasks and also that I rebelled against the idea of writing. I can't shrink away from that task. That should be the highest of my activities, and I should treat it with the appropriate respect. I shouldn't dread it in any sense.