On Monday morning, Wazbob left his home to head down to the docks. Along the way he saw Snagbar, his friend and fellow fisherman, walking in the opposite direction. "Hello there, Snagbar! Where are you headed?" asked Wazbob. Snagbar held up his hand and replied, "I've got this little blister on my finger, see? I'm going to take the day off. I've earned it, right?" Wazbob simply said "If you say so," and walked on.
When he arrived at the docks, he found a dock officer standing by his boat. After a thorough and time-consuming inspection, the officer announced, "I'm pleased to report that your vessel meets all of our requirements... except one." Wazbob was puzzled, as he had never failed a monthly inspection before. "Your registration has expired. I cannot allow you to fish until it is renewed." And so, begrudgingly, Wazbob spent the rest of the day at the Department of Fishing Vehicles to renew his registration.
The next morning, Wazbob was awoken by the sharp crack of nearby thunder. He gazed out his bedroom window to see trees being bent almost to the ground by the strong winds. "Gah, a man can get killed trying to fish in weather like this. I'll have to stay home for the day," grumbled Wazbob. The storm raged until late Wednesday night.
Wazbob rose early on Thursday morning, determined to get in a full day of fishing. As he made his way down to the docks, he again ran into Snagbar, this time walking with an unfamiliar man by his side. "Good morning, Snagbar! Is this a new fishing partner?" he asked. Snagbar chortled and exclaimed, "No, this is my cousin Dagmar! He's visiting for the weekend, so I figured I'd take the day off to show him around." They walked away, chortling all the while. When Wazbob arrived at the docks, he was dismayed to find that a tree had fallen on his boat, crushing the cabin and tearing his best net. After thrice cursing his bad luck, he set about dislodging the tree and repairing his livelihood. He dragged himself home in the late evening covered with sweat, blood, and splinters, but with not a single fish to sell for Friday's market.
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A few months ago I was invited to attend a Wikimedia conference in Washington, D.C., with all expenses covered. I graciously accepted, but foolishly forgot to mark the date on my calendar. I knew I would be leaving on some Thursday in February or March, but had no idea what the date was. Last Wednesday morning, I checked my email to find a final confirmation note regarding the conference which was to take place that weekend!
After two days of scrambling, I found myself in a hostel in D.C. The conference was a smashing success, with lots of good people and great food. The only unfortunate side effect was having to spend four days away from my 1000-hour quest. There was an acoustic guitar in the common area of the hostel, but I hardly had any time to play it. On Saturday night I tallied up my total practice hours for the week, a lousy 14.5. I found myself thinking, "Well, there's nothing I can do about this, so it's not really my fault." But then I was reminded of the lesson of Wazbob and Snagbar: It doesn't matter if you have a valid excuse or not; if you don't do the work, the work won't get done.
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Week 33 total: 14.5 hours
Grand total: 745.5 hours
Required pace: 634.5 hours (+111)
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