Everything Is Irritated

Everything these days seems like an obligation that I've failed to discharge. I feel them opportunity costs accumulatin' with every passsing moment. What have I failed to accomplish today? Even my Netflix queue is a source of insistent, chafing guilt. But today, today I dispensed with one red envelope staring at me obstinately from my desk. And I'm glad I did, Shaun Of The Dead. Hey, The Fog Of War, wait your goddamned turn. Wait for an empty evening when I feel like wallowing in moral outrage and geopolitical melancholy. And stop staring at me like that. It's been weeks and weeks.