a waste of time

 The seventh today, the seventh of November and things just do not work well. In the morning everything is all right, but then in the early afternoon the mail arrives. the tripod is a very good buy. it works well. It is the same model as the one that had to be left in work. 

But somehow the day drags and seems almost to smear away. There is much work trying to sort out the gear for tomorrow, there is work sorting the washing, there is work doing all of these things.

Take the empty bottles out to the bottle bank. Tidy the room upstairs.

The crashing noise as the bottles land in the container is satisfying enough.

There is a sad feeling of depression, and the feeling that nothing worthwhile is being done, and that all the silly things that are being done are just a waste of time