I am procrastinating. I want to do so many things that I don’t know where to start and don’t do anything at all. I have no idea what to do about it.
You see, when I am procrastinating then there’s always a reason. I’m trying to avoid something, quite badly actually. I need to clean up my room, but that’s not it. I need to write, but I am not procrastinating about that. I am writing.
I need to find a new home. I want a houseboat. So much so that I obsessed over houseboats all afternoon and looking at pictures and ads for houseboats on sale. But, while I was doing that, I was still procrastinating.
I don’t know if I want this job that I have. Which is one of my main problems. Finally I decided to watch one of my favourite little movies: I can’t think straight. Apt for many reasons, especially since I really don’t feel as if I can think straight.
I feel anxious. I need to make a decision that I am almost desperately trying to avoid. Make good choices.
See what I mean? I am all over the place.
I turned to my laptop in order to write. That always helps. So I take a deep breath, take a moment to clear my head and breathe out the anxiety and concentrate on the words. I line them up, sort out my thoughts and let go.
I am the writer of my own story. I need to remember this. I live my life. I am the one in charge, the one who is making the choices. I don’t always know if I am making the right choices or even good ones, but I have to give it a go.
I wonder what people would think if I were to quit my job tomorrow. This is something I have a very strong desire to do. It would be extremely selfish of me, mind you. Alas, I have conscience, which means I won’t be quitting just yet. I’d feel bad about it. I’d be incredibly relieved, but I would feel bad about it.
Never mind that it wouldn’t be a very smart move either. From a purely financial point of view.
Okay, back to writing my story. I’m not fond of this chapter. But I have to get through it. What do they say? The only way out is through. The only way we’ll get better.
If all else fails I seek refuge in story. I read, I write, I daydream. Lately mostly the latter. I don’t even watch my TV shows any more. It’s been months. Literally.
When I walked into a bookstore the other day, I looked at a few new releases. I went to find Neil Gaiman’s latest book, which I finally downloaded today. The hardcover was too expensive, a softcover wasn’t available and I keep thinking that I can’t bog myself down with stuff. Hence the download.
I looked at a bunch of his other books as well. I’ve read three of his books now, four if you count Good Omens. I’m reading Anansi Boys and don’t have much left to go. Then I will read his new book and then I will need to get some of his other books. I read the first few pages of The Graveyard Book today as a free sample. Another one on the list to read.
Stories. That is what I live for. When I walk into a bookstore the stories are everywhere around me and I usually feel quite giddy. I screen the shelves, pick one up here or there, read the inside cover or the back of the book if a title interests me.
I could spend a fortune on books, if you’d let me, but where to put them and when to read them? My reading list only ever grows, no matter how many books I devour.
When I walked out of the bookstore that day, without buying anything, I glanced at the shelves once more and said: “I swear to you, one day…” making a promise that I will one day join my books in their ranks.
I have to. I have no choice.
The power of story keeps me going. It makes me come back, it drives me and it made me make that promise. In the movie “I can’t think straight” one of the main characters is an aspiring writer as well. One brief scene sees her at her desk with a fountain pen thinking, taking notes, just being a writer.
This! This is me. This is what I need to do. I don’t want to sit on my bed roaming around the internet all day reading all kinds of trivial articles or even laughing my ass off on “Damnyouautocorrect”.
I should be sitting at my desk, somewhere I can write, and think about the next sentence I need to carve out.
The house I am living in is not the right place. If it were I wouldn’t feel the need to get out. I don’t know if there is a right place for me, other than on a boat, preferably my own. I will have to figure that out, though, and the only way to do that is by moving.
I’ve always had a strong instinct for hitting a cross road in my life. This is where I am now as well. The problem is that I can’t make up my mind. The signs are pointing me one way. Garishly bright letters are yelling “career path” at me and only an idiot would turn the other way.
Well, I am not an idiot, far from it, but I do want to take the other path. Dark, unknown, less walked, maybe never walked at all, and ever so enticing for reasons I cannot possibly make anyone comprehend.
I know it’s my path. It’s the one I will take eventually.
What if I were to stay home tomorrow, never answer my phone, nor my email, vanish off Facebook, packed a bag and just left?
Don’t tell me you’ve never wondered.