It’s been
almost two weeks since my last post. Which is absolutely disgraceful
considering I left you with a clichéd “Until next time winkey-face xoxox” type
thing.
It’s time I started writing again.
It’s not that I don’t like writing. I
really do. It’s just that, well… something always
comes up. I don’t know. I need to check my Facebook account for the fifth
hundredth time (NOT ONE SINGLE NOTIFICATION?! IT’S BEEN LIKE 2 AND A HALF
MINUTES?! WHY DOESN’T ANYONE LOVE ME? *Cough*) and that knock-off I got in the
Oxfam bookshop isn’t going to read itself…
… I’ve got
a little problem.
My name is
Louise and I’m a procrastinator. HARD CORE. Procrastination. I put the “pro” in it.
This is laughable until it actually
becomes a problem. Which it will, I’m positive about it. For some unknown
reason, I put things off as long as is possible – or until that DO OR DIE instinct kicks in saying “The
driver theory test is half an hour away. It’s time to do something about that”
It’s not that I don’t LIKE doing things. I do very much like doing things…. Later on.
Tomorrow. Eventually.
(Ironically,
this is one of the reasons why I started blogging. I was procrastinating over
essays and then thought I should actually do something semi-constructive.
Blogging seemed semi-constructive at the time. And now I’m even procrastinating
on it. Procrast-ception)
Eventually,
I will change my ways. Someday.
*Sighs.
But I’ve
been waiting for “someday” for the last
18 years and it still hasn’t arrived yet.
SOMEDAY.
What do I
visualise happening on this glorious day?
Not some
sort of second coming of Jesus in a space suit eating a KFC bargain bucket
saying “GTFO of bed, you’ve got a lecture on medieval poetry in seven minutes”
– although that would be pretty freaking cool.
No. Someday, I’m going to actually tick off
every single thing that needs doing on my evergrowing TO DO LIST. And I’ll do it ALL on that
ONE DAY. And that is how I will live my life until I, you know, get arthritis
and a bad back and dentures.
Someday, the alarm on my phone will ring at 8am, and
I’ll ACTUALLY GET UP at 8am.
Someday, I will be given a French assignment and I
will do it on that day, methodically, using footnotes and a French dictionary.
Rather than waiting stupidly and needlessly for another 6 days to pass until
the night before the deadline; perving my way through facebook and
listening to [insert obscure indie band here – f*ck it, who am I kidding? –
Gangnam Style] on youtube and typing whatever crap that comes into my head into
Google translate.
Someday, I will actually do sit ups. Someday,
I will make my bed the minute I get out of it. Someday, I will update my CV, print it out and look for a job. Someday, I will make myself a decent
meal – yes, ladies and gentlemen, I’ve finally realised that Aldi Noodles are
not a food group and if I continue eating them for every single meal will end
up with rickets. Someday, I will go to Walton’s, buy a G-String (FOR MY GUITAR YOU FILTHY MINDED PEOPLE), fix aforementioned guitar and learn the instrumental
bit to Everlong.
Someday, I will pay my library fines. Someday, I will not go to my 9 am
tutorial hung-over. Someday, I will learn the rest of the Japanese alphabet.
My
favourite film of all time is a French Film called The First Day of the Rest of Your
Life (If you haven’t seen it, you should) and there’s just a wonderful
moment in it where Raef – about 26 years old, still living at home, a perpetual
procrastinator – is sitting in his pyjamas well into the afternoon playing Lara Croft on his PS1 (the year is like
1998) and his mother stands in front of the telly and says “Someday you’ll have
a to do list so long that the rest of life won’t be enough to get it all done” (or something along those lines – and also in a sexier accent. Because
she’s French and the French are good at that sort of thing) and then Raef,
uninspired, whines about how Lara Croft has just been eaten by a wolf. It’s a
great film.
Anyways,
the point is. One day I’m going to wake up, a secondary school teacher (let’s
face it. It’s going to happen) with responsibilities… Like, I don’t know – a
car (actually, I hope it’s a cute little Suzuki
Jimny) to fill with diesel, a crack in the bathroom ceiling above the
shower to fill with sticky glue-ey type stuff and copious leaving cert essays
on “Why Hamlet delays” (also about
procrastination – myself and Hamlet have a lot in common, apparently. Except
for the fact that he has to avenge his father’s death and deal with his own
subconscious, incestuous feelings for his mother whereas I only have to take
out the rubbish bins) to correct. Someday, I won’t have the option, the
liberty, the freedom to procrastinate because I will have actual things to do.
People are going to depend on me TO GET THINGS DONE ON TIME. ALL THE
TIME.
So why the
hell don’t I just do things on time right now?
Because I’ve
got a Downton Abbey boxset. But I swear
I’ll do my homework afterwards….
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