I’m procrastinating. This is contrary to my usual productive nature, or so I lead myself to believe. I just finished baking some banana-cinnamon muffins. Now that’s a great way to procrastinate because you have, at least, some tangible immediate satisfaction. I procrastinate on the stuff that won’t have that same immediacy. It sucks. Plain and simple.
Reading a few positive famous or not-so-famous quotes on being more productive, and having a positive attitude is all great, but then it’s just another way to procrastinate again, isn’t it. It doesn’t change the fact that my fingers haven’t really hit the keyboard or my eyes the internet. Even as I expand my To Do lists vowing to reduce them, and linger over them with pangs of guilt that follow me like a dark shadow obligating me to even have them, and then in the reducing of them to a mere handful of things…I notice something. There’s a sudden…void…an emptiness that jolts me back to reality momentarily…a jolt, not unlike the cola, that awakens me to the encroaching fears of the possibility of the meaninglessness of my self-generated minutia…that if I didn’t have this vacancy filled…someone might notice how lacklustre my existence feels at times. That’s not discounting all the great things I’ve got in life, family and friends included.
And having just mentioned them, I almost feel that, while I don’t take them for granted, no one receives the equivalent of an Oscar for being a good friend or the best parent, or whatever. Hollywood’s best do, though. Damn them. Them, and their golden statues that hold grace upon their mantles. Teachers should get such recognition, at the very least their own red carpet. Pay scales for actors seem way out of scale in relation to the importance of their jobs. I only say that because I’m jealous.
Okay, procrastination is better phrased as the art of distraction because quite obviously now I’ve leapt from muffins to Hollywood. That’s some segue, just in time for me to hear the ding of the kitchen timer.