There are two kinds of days - Work Days (WDs) and Non-Work Days (NWDs). Today is an NWD.
(You could perhaps get an NWD mixed up with a WMD, but for a couple of differences: (1) NWDs exist. And (2) while WMDs are destructive implements designed to wield havoc upon your enemies, NWDs are beacons of constructivity whose most destructive implement is a pen or a pair of scissors and which wield joy and pleasure upon me (and the enemies which exist in my own soul, but that's another story and not this one).
When your waxing and waning energy levels are once again on the rise and Speedy Snail (see below, in my double-paged art journal entry, click to enlarge) is functioning in an upright position, then NWDs also become an exercise in comparison. Cleaning the toilet becomes an enjoyable task because (a) you're not working and (b) you got here. Physical issues over the last 13 years have meant that there have been more days than you could count where you would have liked to have cleaned the toilet but it would have to wait till tomorrow. And even though cleaning the toilet uber quickly loses its lustre, even this version of chopping wood and drawing water becomes a pleasure simply by dint of the fact that you don't do it nearly enough because you keep running out of time (or energy).
Clock time is a pain in the arse at the best of ... well, times. You just don't like each other very much no matter what day it is. On WDs it marches relentlessly slowly while you're working, and your concentration levels being all over the place as they are you retaliate by skyving off work and going and looking at Facebook instead. Which, unsurprisingly, means that you're working at 11 pm some nights, berating yourself for once again not having the physical wherewithal to be able to focus, damn it.
In contrast to WDs, clock time in NWDs develops bipolar mania and flies. Already it's 1.30 and what have you done today? You've cooked breakfast and you've attended to some health matters, and you've done some prewriting, partially cleaned the bathroom, and done lots of work in your head about the creative nonfiction pieces you have brewing on the backburners. But no matter how busy it feels in your head, it never looks as accomplished in your physical environment as it feels from inside your noggin. There is more going on inside your head than there is energy inside your body. This is the adrenally challenged, copperheaded land of Speedy Snail, where the mind is racing with creativity while the body, in various forms, lags behind.
Not too far behind lately, however. Because the energy is rising, and you suspect it's rising to levels of stability you have not seen for decades. You do not imagine you are going to be in this land forever. But whatever land you find yourself in next, you know this: time (unless it's kairos of course) and its stupid, boring linearity will surely not be a friend of yours there either.