Only on the absolutely unavoidable. And even that, without focus. And yet, focus is exactly what would be needed. There's the pile: unmarked tests, assignments to grade, a life to be lived—everything waiting patiently. Time will sort it out, in theory — but maybe I've been misreading time. You can focus in the noise, they say. Yet there's noise with earplugs too.
And if all writing is political, then so is this.
Meanwhile, there's the kid to take care of — playground, spaceship, ice cream. And somehow, there, focus appears.
It would also be ideal if I could say that I am working on myself. Monday chest, back — Wednesday legs, arms... Slowing down what keeps speeding up. Mornings and evenings, the supplements: the anti-greying one, the one for skin, the one for joints. Before bed: the water flosser, the interdental brush, and, of course, sometimes a little whitening. Fighting the unfightable, on too many fronts at once.
And yet focus is still necessary — it holds together what would otherwise fall apart.
Everything works against it. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday.
This wasn't that week. But today is Sunday, and I’m glad it's over.