thinking too much...(boneless chicken breast)

Sunday night again. I'm sure I don't have to convince anyone that three thirty in the morning, monday morning, is not a fun time for me.

I have lost all inner strength to put up a fight against the burn out I've been running in for a month or two now. Mornings are a struggle.

Particularly I've given up on making myself meals. The thought of making myself a lunch or making myself dinner, or sometimes of even pouring myself a bowl of cereal feels like an arduous, torturous, monster of a process very akin to the meaningless chasing after the wind that Solomon talks about. Except that if you are doomed to chase after the wind I would much prefer doing it in the form of marrying lots of women, spending gobs of money on golden palaces and studying to be the wisest man to have ever lived.

But no, I'm stuck with an equal inner suffering to bear but only a sorry looking pan fried boneless chicken breast and some white rice at the end of the day to show for it.

Solomon was a cry baby.