Fatigue and honey

I'm becoming more and more convinced that the single factor that defines the sum of human achievement is not intelligence, it's not talent, nor is it vision or determination.  It's not even money, as I think I would have bet just a short while ago.

It is tiredness. 

I get home from work wanting nothing more than to sit on the couch and do whatever is the most passive thing I can engage in with whatever's in reach from my inert pose.  I want something that can only be called an "activity" in the very loosest sense of the word.

I have lofty goals and dreams.  Often, I make concrete plans about how to make those dreams happen.  They often sound like this: "Man, just an hour a day.  If I can get my ass in gear for just an hour a day, I'll have that novel / budget / blog post / cooking class finished before I know it."  Then I get to work in the morning, hook up my soul siphon for ten hours, and get home so ridiculously drained that two hours of "Biggest Loser: Couples" somehow sounds like a good idea.

And here's what worries me ... the baby's not even here yet!