After a terribly brief repose in the comfortable red leather chair this morning following our 13 km bicycle ride I pushed off to nowhere in particular - unless you include collecting the two blankets from the dry cleaners. The afternoon was upon us. I never like to adjourn the day's proceedings beyond 2:00 pm because everything else becomes impossibly congested and potentially disjointed. There are familiar adventures to be conducted every day, most of which occur predictably at roughly the same times. It is imperative to accomplish a minimum of duties if only for the reason to expiate the guilt of inactivity which might otherwise prevail.
To slander the urge to fill in the blanks as "killing time" is somewhat unfair. The mere lack of commercial ambition is no cause for trivializing the enterprise. While the scheme does not approach the artistic dignity of doing nothing at all (an arena which frankly I consider irresponsibly anaesthetized) it does however achieve a recognizable element of existentialism. More to the point the measure of achievement is not to be distanced from the question itself - that is, not "What did you do?", but rather "Why did you do it?" Unearthing the motive is always the answer to any crime! My misconduct today for example was propelled by the astute admission that time (whatever I may choose to do with it) is running out! This is an inducement which paradoxically has infected my being since I was much younger. To a degree it is a rationale having the lure of inspiration at almost any age. Even if it were considered a plagiarized excuse for appropriating time in disguise, it nonetheless camouflages the greater evil of utter listlessness.
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