Work, school, reading, games, and exercise. Hot water. Mix. Pour. Plans filled the square molds of my calendar quickly as though they resembled nothing of their gelled counterparts, threatening to overflow, and once they set it was time to start the engine of routine, that autopilot in my head that takes helm and dictates action based on a list of rules like a finite-state automaton.

And thus, I punched through the week, working because I have to, reading because I want to finish the book, gaming because I committed myself to completing it. Each activity was bland, tasteless, void of any meaning besides "getting it done."

I berate myself because this isn't living (further mental torment over my current situation provided by Thoreau). Really, the only thing I seem to be working towards or drawing any sort of motivation from lately is this remote idea of my future where I'll be financially, educationally, and professionally stable.

But enough ranting. Things are really falling into place, and I suppose the main thing is that I'm happy with where things are going. Sometimes I just have to punch through things to ignore this itch of malcontentedness that afflicts me periodically. I like to think it's a Sagittarius thing.

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