Time flies and habits die

Writing isn't easy.

Doing anything regularly isn't easy either.

(Except sleeping and eating.)

So that's why it's hard to write regularly.

We'll all find ourselves, at fifty years of age, in tears over the same faults, the same bad habits, in pursuit of the same virtues. All because we're too lazy, too disorganized, too proud, too discouraged, to do any better.

I think a passage of St. Msgr. Escriva is in order:

"'Tomorrow!' Sometimes it is prudence; many times it is the adverb of the defeated."