Procrastination
No better word to describe my current state. Me and ol' Procrastination, we go back a long way - inseparable, in fact.
A couple of days ago, I saw an ad in the papers inviting applicants for the post of sub-editor. My heart had jumped, and I carefully kept the ad, reading and re-reading it. The brief job description seemed to matched the things I am (or like), such as being a pedantic grammar Nazi and anal-retentive about (certain) facts.
You'd think I'd have immediately plunk my ass in front of my laptop and shoot off my c.v. via email (as instructed) - but no. I decided I was going to the library and nothing would stop me.
Two days later, I'm still staring at that ad. My then-enthusiasm has been disintegrated by my second-guessing and deliberation. And I'm still putting off sending in my résumé.
No, not today - I'm dropping by John Little and Robinsons to participate in rampant consumerism.
No, not now - I just got to finish the latest Patricia Cornwell, and there are still half a dozen of my regular music blogs to visit and download new songs off.
No, not later - I've still loads of ironing to do; plus, with the sun finally acting macho again, there are clothes hanging in the backyard drying that I have to take in.
No, I guess never - I just don't have time; I've been too busy doing nothing.
Obviously, I don't have my priorities straight (what else is new, sister?). But maybe - maybe I really don't want to apply for the position of sub-editor.
I don't know why.
Perhaps a lack of confidence in my skills and abilities. Perhaps laziness. Perhaps I just don't want to apply for such a position.
I want to find a job - I just don't know what I want to do. I flip religiously through the job ads every morning (save Sundays), but that's all I do - I read the ads, refold the papers and have my breakfast. I'd told myself I have to find a job by the end of November; then, by the end of 2005; and now, by the end of January.
This goes on any longer, I'll find myself at home for the rest of my fucking life.
I feel like I'm enmeshed in a gigantic web of lethargy, ennui, low self-esteem, zilch self-confidence (oh yes, I'm fat now, I suspect I may have dandruff, and my face is breaking out there's no tomorrow), and hopelessness: trapped.
Eat me already, you candy-stripe legged spiderman; I want to feel your tongue in my eyes and like "I'm being eaten by a thousand / million shivering furry holes".
I'd rather be eaten than stay trapped.
A couple of days ago, I saw an ad in the papers inviting applicants for the post of sub-editor. My heart had jumped, and I carefully kept the ad, reading and re-reading it. The brief job description seemed to matched the things I am (or like), such as being a pedantic grammar Nazi and anal-retentive about (certain) facts.
You'd think I'd have immediately plunk my ass in front of my laptop and shoot off my c.v. via email (as instructed) - but no. I decided I was going to the library and nothing would stop me.
Two days later, I'm still staring at that ad. My then-enthusiasm has been disintegrated by my second-guessing and deliberation. And I'm still putting off sending in my résumé.
No, not today - I'm dropping by John Little and Robinsons to participate in rampant consumerism.
No, not now - I just got to finish the latest Patricia Cornwell, and there are still half a dozen of my regular music blogs to visit and download new songs off.
No, not later - I've still loads of ironing to do; plus, with the sun finally acting macho again, there are clothes hanging in the backyard drying that I have to take in.
No, I guess never - I just don't have time; I've been too busy doing nothing.
Obviously, I don't have my priorities straight (what else is new, sister?). But maybe - maybe I really don't want to apply for the position of sub-editor.
I don't know why.
Perhaps a lack of confidence in my skills and abilities. Perhaps laziness. Perhaps I just don't want to apply for such a position.
I want to find a job - I just don't know what I want to do. I flip religiously through the job ads every morning (save Sundays), but that's all I do - I read the ads, refold the papers and have my breakfast. I'd told myself I have to find a job by the end of November; then, by the end of 2005; and now, by the end of January.
This goes on any longer, I'll find myself at home for the rest of my fucking life.
I feel like I'm enmeshed in a gigantic web of lethargy, ennui, low self-esteem, zilch self-confidence (oh yes, I'm fat now, I suspect I may have dandruff, and my face is breaking out there's no tomorrow), and hopelessness: trapped.
Eat me already, you candy-stripe legged spiderman; I want to feel your tongue in my eyes and like "I'm being eaten by a thousand / million shivering furry holes".
I'd rather be eaten than stay trapped.
posted by s at 20:42
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