I have there rest of my life to do something useful, right?

I am working on a new philosophy which accepts the fact that most of the time I'm not actually productive, and if I spend an hour wandering around in a toy store (or looking at toys online) and not getting anything, or some unnecessarily long period of time staring at stuff thinking about what I plan to do with/about it, then this is not actually a waste. It's only a waste if I give myself a headache, or don't actually enjoy it at the time.

Of course, this means the book I read half of last night was *probably* a waste of time. (Storm Front by Jim Butcher) Those of you who like urban fantasy detective stories would probably find it pretty good. I never quite got to the end of the Phillip Marloe series (the ones I read were good, but I could only deal with so many at once) and have read *far too much* Laurel K Hamilton, and I find it mainly kind of trite and kind of annoying by turns. Which is sad, but I don't like the particular style of gender interactions, or the dark/hidden forces sub-themes that it's going on about. Sigh.

Today, I think I shall do something else. We'll see.