My beloved grandmother kept a journal for her entire life, beginning when she was in college. I am lucky to be the custodian of her journals and other writing. She wrote daily. One of her college journals, labeled "English Language 111," begins with this brilliant and topical little essay:
The worst feeling I have ever known is the guilty awareness of things undone. When I realize that another day has disappeared into forever-goneness, with all those plans so faithfully made at the beginning of the day having departed just after they were born, I wonder why mortals were ever given the faculty to think. My eyes will not stay open and it takes all the will-power I have to pull a thought from the blank that my mind has become. The more my whirling brain strives to solve the problem of dividing one vacant hour in the morning so that it will stretch over the preparations for three consecutive classes, the more I comprehend that all this worry is merely a foolish waste of time and I may as well go to bed.
This day is headed into forever-goneness, and comes another tomorrow. With that, gentle reader, I may as well go to bed.