“I don't want to run today, it's raining” would have been an excellent reason to skip my weekly run.  Except that I knew, had I truly wanted to run, that the rain made no difference - it wouldn't have hindered me.  Excuses have this amazing trait of appearing valid; and, they actually would be where it not for the fact that you know they are not.

I hear myself questioning the point of all of this – this effort.  It sounded so good when I started this website but now, just a month later, I am starting to feel disheartened.  So, I'm a wuss, big deal, so are many other people.  What makes me think I am different, even special, anyway?  It's not like I get paid doing this - if I was then it’s work, in which case, I would want to be doing something else.  It's not like I want a trophy (I don’t).  Maybe it is simply because my goals were selfish to begin with that I couldn't sustain enough interest in it.  After all, if I fail, I only fail myself.

Save for the refrigerator and bathroom raids every now and then, I find myself couch-slouched and fixated in watching DVDs of Jack Bauer surviving long arduous days.  I had skipped several trips to the gym, my writing is even dryer than usual, and I really don't want to do anything.  I know I'm on the road to self-pity but, seeing that I am aware of this and that I am in front of my computer typing this, I also know that I haven't slipped too far into loserhood.  Not yet anyway.