So I’m sitting at my desk…

…reading from W.S. Merwin’s The Moon Before Morning which isn’t what I ought to be doing, but is there really such a thing as ought? Anyway, I am not doing what I ought to be doing (the notion of the validity of ought from here formally challenged), and the poem I’m reading is titledĀ  “Theft of Morning” (scroll down at this link for the entire poem) and there’s this, which fits:

as I sit for a while after breakfast
reading a few pages
with the shadowing sense
that I am stealing the moment
from something else
that I ought to be doing
so the pleasure of stealing is part of it