On Procrastination

Why is it that when one has three hours a day to do the thing they truly love, they spend two hours of that time doing everything else they hate, like dishes, bills, meaningless puttering around that amounts to nothing?

Not that that’s me, of course.  I’m talking about all you procrastinators out there.  Yeah, you, whittling away a perfectly good Saturday afternoon with bad movies you’ve seen already, then looking at your drafting table/half-finished sculpture/hastily written blob of paragraphs that’s supposed to be a novel, and then going back and reading half a book you know you aren’t actually going to finish anyway.  And now you have only an hour and a half of “you time” left, and you know you aren’t getting anything done with that.  So you take a quick nap.

Bet you’re feeling proud of yourself, now that it’s Monday and yet again, you’re not doing anything but reading this.  How’s that working out for you?  Well, keep it up.  After all, great works always make themselves, in the middle of the afternoon, while you take a nap.

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