Round and round.

Ever have so much to do that you look at the list and go, "Nevermind, I'm not doing anything!" Why bother when the list never ends? Clobbered busy at work today. Plan on being clobbered tomorrow. And the next. The next. Etc. Even if I took time off, I'd have a list at home to wade through. It just never stops. Ever.

And something is missing somewhere. A whisper I cannot understand. An itch I cannot find to scratch. Knuckles that won't pop. Something. Somewhere. Calling. But I cannot find the source of the sound, let alone make out what it is telling me.

Just not in the right mood to chase my own tail any more. I see the rut I've worn into the floor. It goes nowhere. Round and round, Jon. Round. And. Round.