Yes, it's Sunday. All day. And a day shorter, sort of, because we sprang forward last night. It doesn't help. I have been anaesthetized by the Sunday NYT all morning and it's somewhere around mid-day now, give or take a little DST. The NYT is not just a pleasure, it's a compulsion. I sit down with it and a pen and slips of paper to take notes and scissors for clipping. I run a clipping service for several people with different interests and I save items for my own research and write noodges that I try to follow up on. You see: it's work. It justifies my existence today, not enough, of course, but it helps.

Never enough. There are so many things I should be doing. How do other people manage? How do they manage to do so much? What do they know that I don't know?

Ai me, it's a very bloggy Sunday.