There are days, some serious days, when I simply wish this was a private diary where I could simply rant about everything.  Days when I wish this was a blog where even if I simply ranted there would be plenty of people who commented, or days when if I didn’t want comments and none were given.  Days when I didn’t have to care about whom I wrote about, and whether or not they would read it.  Days when I didn’t have to worry about someone else getting hurt by what I said.  
There are times when I wish I could give more, give more and provide more for my family and friends.  Times when I wish I could be that pillar, that one person who might change the lives of my nieces and nephews drastically.  Times when I wish I could do a million things and then I get worried about all of these millions of things and am unable to actually get anything done.  I end up too stressed out and drained like a keg after a frat party.  

Sometimes I feel like there are simply so many things to be doing and accomplishing that I freak out, and my momentum stops before I even get started.  All these ideas are boiling around in my head but getting them out is just taking time from something else I could be doing.  Something else that is equally important.  I need to learn more programming, then I realize I could be spending my time teaching my niece soccer.  Or I feel I need exercise more and realize I could equally be cleaning up the house.  

What I don’t understand is boredom.  I used to understand boredom when I was much younger.  When I would stay in Texas for the summer with my father in this 500 person podunk town, with no friends or family, and one room with air conditioning.  A summer where all I did was watch TV or read books and hang out with my dad.  Boredom is now a luxury.  One that only occurs when my body, mind, and heart are done for the day and cannot do much else.  Although lately even that isn’t occurring.  

Lately I’ve been reading books, and learning about things until I start to pass out.  Then I wake up and get going again.  Something about the Fall makes me more capable, more productive.  It reminds me of starting school, and the excitement of it all.  

Do the seasons heavily affect your productivity?  Another, more important question, is how can we expect them not to?