If only they knew how easy it is to throw me off my game, they'd leave me alone on Sundays. That's really all I ask. I'll get all my work done in two days if the phone doesn't ring and the fax doesn't spew all weekend. Maybe I should just tell them.

Today's interruption came in the form of a totally unnecessary ten-page fax. I was sailing along, getting caught up on paying company bills and other non-sexy details of life in the construction business. I could have gone on for hours, but I lost my momentum and my enthusiasm as soon as I heard the fax machine come to life.

It would have been better for all concerned if I'd kept working. There would have been no further interruptions, and I could have finished the pesky state sales tax return that I've been putting off all month. Today was the day I was going to do it, but instead all I wanted to do all afternoon was sit. So sit I did.

If they knew how thin the thread is that hobbles me to the grindstone, they wouldn't take a chance on fraying it. They would back off especially on my most productive days, Saturday and Sunday. I'm really punishing myself by putting off the work I could have done today. But I can't help it. I'm a slave to the natural friction created by my own special brand of laziness.

Getting started is hard, but getting restarted after a caution is even harder.

The exercise I'm getting by working out in the yard every afternoon for as long as I can stand it is probably just about the right amount, for my physical wellbeing anyway. The toll it's taking in mental health is probably counterproductive, though. I work and work until I drop, and I can't see a bit of difference in the yard once I step back and look. I can just imagine how it would look to an outsider seeing it for the first time. Or worse, to my landlord, who has seen it looking better. Giving up might be the only answer here.