What A Whiner

I've been going through some old notebooks looking for material on a project I've been thinking about for, I don't know, seven years, maybe, and am just getting around to starting. I'm finding all this stuff from around 2004 and 2005 in which I complain about how little work I'm doing and how my work problems aren't related to lack of creativity but lack of structure and how I'm so frustrated with myself for having forgotten to write morning pages and how, once again, I'm trying to come up with another process that will make me more productive. It's depressing as hell reading all this crap. Then there are many pages where I took notes on books about writing that I'd read and remember next to nothing about now.

Evidently I overslept more frequently back then than I do now, too. I don't know what that was about.