The first, aborted draft of this post was around a thousand, barely-coherent words. Let’s hope this draft behaves itself.
When I first took on the task of writing about the Boston Celtics this season, I mainly did so as an experiment and writing exercise. Instead of writing what I knew, I wanted to write about what I didn’t know and what I didn’t give a shit about.
So imagine my surprise this week when I discovered I’m actually getting into basketball. The sport itself deserves some of the credit, but mostly I’m blaming the Red Sox.
I’m having a tough time believing that Bobby Valentine will go down in history as anything but the worst manager the Red Sox have ever had. But the less said about that, the better–especially since what I originally wrote here was a six-hundred-word essay on that subject.
Suffice it to say, I can’t wait for October to get here.
This has been a fairly decent week work-wise, but trying to nail myself down to a short list of projects has been excruciating. In fact, the effort has left me wondering if I have any sense at all. I no sooner get a list written, say “this is it,” then six other projects jump up and make me start the whole process over again.
What’s worse, I’ve decided I absolutely need to have some Me Time goals in the mix. Yes, it’s official, unless I find a way to trick myself into thinking I’m working, I seem incapable of having fun.
Isn’t that supposed to be the other way around?
Whatever. The point is that coming up with a list of three projects–one big, two small–has now become coming up with a list of six projects–two big, four small, split evenly between Work and Fun.
If I had more coffee in me, I’d elaborate. For now, I’ll just leave it that next week I hope to have a new set of goals written.
Honestly, though, if this week has been any indication, I’ll be lucky if I have a set of goals ready for the next round.