My motivation is in the toilet after a productive day yesterday. I’m sitting on the thirteenth floor of Robarts looking out at the city lying flat underneath a bank of heavy grey clouds. The day is far from over—I should not compare myself to others or even to previous versions of myself. I’d like to spend the day roaming the earth back and forth but instead I will write this essay about time and the ways in which it compares to form. The day is far from over, in fact it has hardly even begun. I like the way that I feel when I am in the throes of writing something—I liked biking back from R’s with the conclusion on my brain. But that essay is done—it’s time to reset and begin again.
