I know there are people for whom that statement is the culmination of a life-long dream. It screams, "I'm working for myself! I'm my own boss! Nobody on the internet knows you're a dog!"
For me it's mostly an indication of an utter failure to achieve things in an ideal order.
First I rolled over and slept an extra twenty-five minutes, time in which I really should've been showering. Then I'd forgotten I needed to brown the lambshank before dumping it in the crockpot, so that meant my 15 minutes of make-dinner/eat breakfast time this morning turned into half an hour, which is especially annoying since it turned out I didn't have a frying pan really large enough to properly brown the lambshank with.
The next 15 minute break was used up making bread, 'cause we were nearly out. And really, it's all gone to hell. I've just now gotten to 3K, which is psychologically much more damning than reaching 3K by noon. If you've written 3K by noon, well, damn, doing another 3K after noon seems like a breeze. Granted, having another 2K to do after 2pm isn't that bad, but it's nothin' like as good as being done with the bulk of the work before lunch.
And now, although I really do want to get that other 2K done so I'm *done* with it, I also really need to get out of the house and do some errands. Buy toilet paper, for example, as we're totally out. This is, as they say in the vernacular, a problem. Besides, I haven't left the house since Saturday, so I need to do that anyway, for the sake of my sanity.
(This is a major problem with me writing a lot. Writing trumps all. On the one hand, right now I really need it to trump all. On the other, my butt is numb from so much time in the chair, and "exercise" is only a word in the dictionary, which makes me sad. And fat.)