Because I am writing this to procrastinate.
- Working from home is, without a doubt, better for me than working in an office. The downside is that the work is always around me. The pieces I must turn in become the texture of my life, not just at a desk waiting for me the next morning, but hanging around batting at me while I take a shower or dare to take the time to cook. They are there when I open up my multiple inboxes every morning and there when I do the same before going to bed.
- It’s good to have bosses who care about my well-being and my personal development. It makes opening up the computer every day less terrifying.
- Going through a season flavored with more solitude and introspection than usual makes me hypersensitive to invasive extroverts; these observations are teaching me how not to be an invasive extrovert when I eventually emerge someday. Such as…
- Someone said recently, “We should get coffee.” Words matter. The word “should” matters. For the first time in my life, I immediately responded by saying, “I actually can’t say yes to that, because I have very limited space in my life right now to cultivate relationships and I’ve chosen who those people are already. But thank you for caring about me.” It was truthful, and therefore empowering.
- March was awful. So so so bad.
- But also really good. New things growing in the springtime. Control and success gently taken out of my tight grip and replaced with perspective.
- My life has always been a story I more or less knew the ending of.
- I always skip to the last few pages of a book before I choose to invest in reading it, just in case it ends badly. If it does, I won’t read the book.
- I no longer have the map for my earthly life — and I’m not talking about how to behave and what informs the kinds of choices I make. Pretty sure those internal compasses aren’t out of whack. I mean the narrative laid before me: the one from Grove City, the one from my Pinterest boards, the ones my most idolized acquaintances seem to be living overseas, the life safely mapped ahead within the small confines of what I thought it meant to be loved.
- I should be writing a film review right now.
- Or the cultural weekly calendar.
- Or my artist profile.
- Or researching foundations for a project.
- Or training myself on Google Adwords.
- Instead of doing those things today, I chose to attend to a huge source of stress to me, which is clean unfolded laundry. I had a growing pile of lightly worn clothes which migrated from chair to floor to bed to basket to hamper to floor again. They are now all neatly folded and hung.
- This led to going through the avalanche of mail and flyers and papers collected on my desk. I found some unpaid things and had miniature heart attacks, and found some really lovely old letters I had left unanswered. Both gave me equal levels of anxiety. Don’t ask me why. They both require stamps, perhaps.
- News reporting is risky. Especially on political candidates and well-known community figures. I am guarding every adjective and recording every conversation now, because I like to learn from my mistakes.
- Am I really cut out for this words business, or should I have taken up some sort of socially productive and angst-less career, like toothpaste manufacturing or vegetable farming to measuring the square footage of things?
- For the first time in a while I am living just til the end of today. I haven’t had much luxury to think ahead. I don’t think I’d want to, anyway. I just turn in what I can and do the best with the time I have. It is strange. I like plans and I feel naked without them.