First Post - How I Do Work When I'm Swamped

So. Hi. I'm Morie.

I'm procrastinating.

There has got to be Procrastinators Anonymous somewhere. Except nobody would go. Because, you know, they'd procrastinate. Or noes, wait, this is like a support group. So some people would go. But I would fall off the bandwagon and next thing I know my name is never mentioned in group meetings except with a disdainful/pitying look and a kind of assumption that THEY of course will never stay up until 5 am learning about bees and reading every single blog post on Hyperbole and a Half because they are so over that and are leading full productive-- Where am I going with this?

Right. I am swamped with work. Freelance writerly work with three deadlines tomorrow and then three the day after and then four in a couple of more days. Right. But that is not fun. I mean, if it was fun, I would probably not be here, I would be working. Duh. Moving on.

So. It's 2:17AM in Boston, where I am, right now, and I am trying hard not to fall asleep. Because of the aforementioned. Work. Right. And I feel awful about this. Because my body, see, my body hates me at this point. It believes that I am evil. That I am somehow against it. That I am making it stay up all night intermittently, without any schedule or even a pretense at choosing whether to be nocturnal or diurnal.

(hehe! Diurnal! Funniest word ever! It's like a cross between diarrhea and urinal and every time I heard it I giggled. Even in college lecture. Loudly. In front of everyone. yes).

So, back to my body, right. So I feel terrible about keeping it up. But I just can't get to work. It's like there is some sort of demonic force that is guiding me away from the open-office doc, away from the nice pretty letters lining up in logical progression that doesn't include laughing about diarrhea and urinals and well -- I just can't resist my demonic host. Because if I do, I'll end up like Emily Rose and everyone will think I'm schizoepileptic and possibly demonic and they will show giant pictures of my bloody nostrils in court. Yes.

And of course, I can't just go to sleep. I have WORK to do. You will soon understand, I am filled with the amazing combination of being extremely lazy, having a lovely short attention span and an enormous feeling of responsibility. This combination has bred hilarity throughout my entire life. It leads me to bleed out of my eyes after finishing a 25 page paper on the debt of small obscure African nations in one night. It leads me to agonize over details no one will ever notice. Like the fact that the printer at Staples on Beacon street smudged the last letter on my statement of purpose for grad school. I was rushing so hard I had no time to re-print, because, you know, lazy, but my responsibility pounded me into pulp afterwards. Because Now They Will Know Everything. Everything. Everything at all about me. Oh yes.

So while I am placating the demon I am also trying to placate the body. I decided to do good things for it while I am not allowing it to sleep. Like water. I heard water is good for you. In the last four hours I've probably had five glasses of water. I think I am on my way to becoming amoebic.

First Post - How I Do Work When I'm Swamped

So. Hi. I'm Morie.

I'm procrastinating.

There has got to be Procrastinators Anonymous somewhere. Except nobody would go. Because, you know, they'd procrastinate. Or noes, wait, this is like a support group. So some people would go. But I would fall off the bandwagon and next thing I know my name is never mentioned in group meetings except with a disdainful/pitying look and a kind of assumption that THEY of course will never stay up until 5 am learning about bees and reading every single blog post on Hyperbole and a Half because they are so over that and are leading full productive-- Where am I going with this?

Right. I am swamped with work. Freelance writerly work with three deadlines tomorrow and then three the day after and then four in a couple of more days. Right. But that is not fun. I mean, if it was fun, I would probably not be here, I would be working. Duh. Moving on.

So. It's 2:17AM in Boston, where I am, right now, and I am trying hard not to fall asleep. Because of the aforementioned. Work. Right. And I feel awful about this. Because my body, see, my body hates me at this point. It believes that I am evil. That I am somehow against it. That I am making it stay up all night intermittently, without any schedule or even a pretense at choosing whether to be nocturnal or diurnal.

(hehe! Diurnal! Funniest word ever! It's like a cross between diarrhea and urinal and every time I heard it I giggled. Even in college lecture. Loudly. In front of everyone. yes).

So, back to my body, right. So I feel terrible about keeping it up. But I just can't get to work. It's like there is some sort of demonic force that is guiding me away from the open-office doc, away from the nice pretty letters lining up in logical progression that doesn't include laughing about diarrhea and urinals and well -- I just can't resist my demonic host. Because if I do, I'll end up like Emily Rose and everyone will think I'm schizoepileptic and possibly demonic and they will show giant pictures of my bloody nostrils in court. Yes.

And of course, I can't just go to sleep. I have WORK to do. You will soon understand, I am filled with the amazing combination of being extremely lazy, having a lovely short attention span and an enormous feeling of responsibility. This combination has bred hilarity throughout my entire life. It leads me to bleed out of my eyes after finishing a 25 page paper on the debt of small obscure African nations in one night. It leads me to agonize over details no one will ever notice. Like the fact that the printer at Staples on Beacon street smudged the last letter on my statement of purpose for grad school. I was rushing so hard I had no time to re-print, because, you know, lazy, but my responsibility pounded me into pulp afterwards. Because Now They Will Know Everything. Everything. Everything at all about me. Oh yes.

So while I am placating the demon I am also trying to placate the body. I decided to do good things for it while I am not allowing it to sleep. Like water. I heard water is good for you. In the last four hours I've probably had five glasses of water. I think I am on my way to becoming amoebic.