I just washed some socks and underpants, as well as a few T-shirts. Well, the washing machine actually did it for me. And I boiled half-a-dozen eggs at the same time. Once again, it was actually the electric cooker that that did it for me. There was nothing to it, but I still feel kind of good about myself. I have been busy, as it were. It is all a trick my mind is playing on me, though. My writing is limping along, which is why I am doing my best to fill the vacuum with household chores of all kinds. And why is my writing in such a bad shape? Patanjali got me all confused the last few days, I must confess. Perhaps this, too, is yet another trick of my devious mind, but translating the old yoga sutras has not only taken so much of my time and energy, but it has also shifted my focus quite precipitously. My usual pursuits feel kind of blah at the moment. The online newspapers strike me as utterly pointless, for instance. Commenting on what I stumble upon on the World Wide Web seems like a momentous waste of time, as well. But blaming Patanjali will not do for much longer. Coming to grips with his masterpiece is up to me, and up to me alone. And who says the translation must be completed any time soon? What in the world could be wrong with next year, or the year after next?