Perhaps my parents didn't involve me sufficiently as a child in motivational time-wasting activities, but when I'm living at home (and sometimes even when I'm not living at home) it's impossible for me to capture any of the bootstrap-pulling, cloth cap-tipping, go-get'em-tigering vim and vigour that I know I should be chock full of at my age, at any point during the weekend. It's like a teenage wasteland without the cool guitar riffs.
For instance, today my biggest accomplishment was spending $43 at IKEA, most of which on picture frames so that I can now mount my "Is your washroom breeding Bolsheviks" poster in proper style. If only my washroom was breeding Bolsheviks - it would make my Sunday way more interesting than it's shaping up to be. For one thing, they could help me do my laundry.
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