It is 12:23pm on Tuesday and I think that maybe I have ADHD.
Okay, no (Although it wouldn’t surprise me.). No ADHD. A definite case of the I-don’t-know-what-the-fuck-I’m-doings, though. For the past two days, I’ve been trying to be a Very Serious Writer. I’ve achieved an astonishingly small amount of anything and an astonishingly large amount of nothing.
I’m just sitting here, on my little orange swivelly chair, typing on my laptop as it wheezes more noisily than an octogenarian pack-a-day chain smoker at the end of a kayaking trip down the Mississippi. Can you kayak down the Mississippi? Oh my goodness, do you see what I mean? What is wrong with me?
It’s 12:27pm on Tuesday and I have just found out thanks to Google that yes, you can indeed kayak down the Mississippi.
It’s 12:28pm on Tuesday and I’m still an idiot. This week I intend to write three articles for Origin of Cool, work out some sort of posting system for this little embarrassment of a blog, finish two personal pieces that I’ve been working on for seven weeks and two weeks (respectively), and at least draft/outline some articles to use as trial submissions. On top of that, I have an entire summer of travel and accommodation to organise, the contents of my stolen handbag to re-organise (this includes a renewal of my Australian drivers license, creating a new bank account, an police report and insurance claim on my iPhone4S, and somehow making the 600EU that was taken from me magically reappear), and actual work. Lots of work.
Instead of actually tackling any of this, though, I’m just still sitting here on my damn little, orange swivelly chair, listening to Elton John, The Velvet Underground and Billy Joel, eating yogurt, and generally procrastinating like ain’t nobody’s business. Oh, I also took these.
Please note that I am now delusional and part of an owl totem pole.
It’s 12:47pm on Tuesday and I’m still an idiot only now I’m going to go back to spinning around on this goshdarn little, orange swivelly chair and needlessly reapplying hand cream and call it ‘writing’.
With love, from