I feel that I should know a nursery rhyme about buttons around now...

Yesterday involved finishing the 80 buttonholes on the other frock coat. They are all sewn; now they just need opening & buttons.

Today, there are options:

go back to sleep

go to work now, do about 7 hrs of sorting (which is around what I've managed the last two days), stop at climbing, stop at the grocery store, finish up my coat.

do some stuff here now, go to work mid-morning, do about 7 hrs of sorting, find some dinner, go to climbing, hang out with people, get home late.

"...your perfect verse is just a lie you tell yourself to help you get by..."

Good thing I didn't try to go in late and hang out with people at climbing... I didn't make it remotely 7 hours today. Ok, it was bound to happen eventually, but I was good for perhaps 2 hours of sorting with burning eyes but no headache, and then pushed it to 3 and then spent another two doing size-grading of things that only just dried. And then my brain had come loose from its moorings and started sloshing slightly in my head, so I left. My work ethic no longer includes giving myself migraines. Unfortunately, I'm not really in any state to hand sew things preparatory to making buttonholes-- chopping up carrots and celery for dinner were making me slightly dizzy earlier. Oh, and I'm having a certain amount of difficulty typing straight...

I remember thinking when I was a kid, spending hours staring at my math homework and not actually doing it, that there was some kind of magic to being grown up, and somehow suddenly people leave off being moody and often miserable and unable to concentrate and they become efficient as well as responsible. I wasn't at the time quite sure it was worth the trouble of growing up to get there, but it was quite clear (in that never-really-considered sort of way) that this must be the case. I remember this occasionally, and it's a great disappointment to me.