I am, at this very moment, procrastinating. I have a huge project to do for my side job, one that was supposed to go out last weekend, and I haven’t even started. The kicker is, I’m not even worried that I haven’t started. I’ll get there. I won’t let it get too far out. I just… ran out of time this week.
First it was the damn lasagna that took hours on Saturday. Then the brooding that started during lasagna prep and continued through the day when I learned via text that my siblings can’t see me unless I make the first move to repair the relationship with my parents (a really incredible manipulative move that I just can’t seem to wrap my brain around). Sunday was the epic 4-hour girl time followed by hazy brain and a little work on another side project. Monday was dinner at our favorite pub followed by our first live show in a long time – followed by a rousing game of Liar’s Dice back at the pub that neither one of us can admit was a good idea. Last night and the night before were meetings with people who (we think) can help us with our new venture.
All great excuses reasons, no? I think the hardest part is knowing that my plate is so full, the days I had scheduled to work on this project have passed. These coming days are booked solid with other projects, even this weekend! I’ve totally screwed myself and that makes me more overwhelmed, which makes me more tired, which makes me procrastinate more. My husband’s going to tell me that’s what our summit was for – to avoid these times that I go totally apeshit and lock myself in the office latenight to finish something I’ve put off.
I thought, at 29, that I was over this bullshit routine, but apparently I’m a master in life’s buffet line, piling everything in sight onto my tiny little plate. At least I don’t fill up on salad – I hear that’s where they get you.
Go The World 