At Last
I love Etta James for many reasons. At the moment I'm loving her for her version of "At Last" (sorry Xtina!) which I am listening to in my apartment as I do absolutely nothing. Ahh, nothing, what a lovely concept! My spec is finally handed in and I can now look around at the shambles my life has become in the past two months.
I've had two scripts due and have spent every waking moment either a) assiduously writing a script, or b) even more assiduously avoiding anything that might be construed as writing. As a result, if someone came to my apartment right now, there is a very good chance they would call the police to report a break-in and ransacking. Shambles.
The most painful part of writing isn't the writing. Even when it goes badly, it's still rewarding. What IS painful and not at all rewarding is the avoidance -- at all costs -- of the writing. And it makes no sense!! It's a peculiar, illogical, contrary and even self-destructive impulse. Why avoid what clearly needs to be done, especially if that task is something I enjoy?
Yet I have managed to develop an acute case of ADD whenever I sit down at the screen. There are always all sorts of issues with the surroundings. This chair is uncomfortable. Perhaps I should take my laptop onto the bed or couch where I can really get some writizzzzzzzz.
(Forty minutes later, having woken up from nap and returned to table)
I don't like the light in this corner of the apartment. Mostly because there is none. I was so dumb to put the writing table in the corner that gets the least light. Maybe I should move the furniture. But if I move the table to where the couch is, I'll have to move the TV as well. It shouldn't take that long to hook up the cable again, should it?
(Fifty-eight minutes later, having been unable to reinstall cable on other end of apartment)
No, I should write. It's good for me. Ooh, speaking of which, I haven't worked out since last year. I should do that. Plus, I read that whenever you get the urge to exercise, you should take advantage of it, especially when trying to get back in shape, which I've been meaning to do. (You know, that advice makes no sense at all if I think about it. Substitute any word for "exercise" in that sentence and the problem becomes even clearer. I must have read it in Self Magazine. It's so them to say that.) I've been meaning to go for a hike. I should just grab my shoes.
(Fourteen minutes later, having finally found shoe under pile of laundry)
Oh shoot. My shoes still have that broken lace. Man, those things have lived and died. I really need to get some new ones at some point. And some yoga pants. I miss those perfect yoga pants that GapBody used to make. I should see if someone's selling them on ebay.
(Between twenty minutes and two hours later, depending on what's on ebay)
Ooh! Speaking of which, I still need a glass globe light covering for my lamp. I should go back and check for that too. You know, if I'd taken care of that already, then I wouldn't have the problem of this dark corner where the writing table is to begin with. I'm hungry. I should heat up something. It's so unhealthy to just heat up pretend food out of boxes this way. I should learn to cook. Really learn to cook, so I know recipes by heart and can cook a different dinner for every day of the month. I should run to the market and get some food. I know I'll do much better work if I have a proper meal, with vegetables, some chicken, a little wine. What's something easy? Epicurious must have something easy.
(Forty-five minutes later; back from store with steak that goes straight to freezer, cookie dough, and wine).
I need to start organizing my shopping trips a little bit better. I'd rather go in and buy hemerrhoid cream and pregnancy tests than cookie dough and wine. The clerk just looks at me and sighs. And this is a clerk who sees the purchases of Tommy Lee and all the Sunset Blvd rocker wannabes. How is cookie dough and wine even raising an eyebrow here? I'm probably just self-conscious. I have been ever since that one time when I realized -- as the clerk was scannng the items -- that I was buying Lean Cuisines, white wine, and cat food and started laughing uncontrollably at how I had become a Katherine Mansfield story told via shopping list. Or a Cathy cartoon, but the Katherine Mansfield analogy made me a little less queasy. Anyway, what's he looking at me pityingly for? It goes well with more than seafood!
(Five minutes later, having found remaining clean wineglass and spoon)
I should make some room on the table for the wineglass and cookie dough. Move these magazines.Y'know, I hate everything about that chica on the cover. EVERYTHING. I would gladly set her on fire, and then go date her so so hot and so so deserving of better lovely point guard. (note to self: he is however a French point guard -- quite possibly a wine snob -- maybe don't fall on the cookie-dough-and-pinot-grigio sword quite so hard as habit may have to be jettisoned once I have set The Horror on fire.) I do not, on the other hand, hate the lipstick she is wearing. I love it. I wonder what kind it is?
(Twenty minutes later; having perused issue of Allure thoroughly).
Personali-Tea Color Juice Stick by Loreal. Hmm...says it's a lip balm. I don't believe that. Those are not just her lips. Oh well. It's really close to my other favorite lip gloss. Probably a really dumb way to spend $10 anyway. Especially if I wanna get that globe for my lamp so I can quit sitting in the dark. Where is that lip gloss anyway? I should put some on.
And on and on it goes. Curiously, the only distraction I am able to avoid is cleaning. I like to think that it's because I realize that is at least a three hour distraction and I can't rationalize it the way I can a quick 20 minute trip to the store, but it MAY just be laziness. But now, with nothing to distract me, I can finally clean! Yaay! No more living in a hovel with a floor that needs to be swept and bathroom tiles that need to be scrubbed and takeout containers that need to be tossed! Let the cleaning begin!
Actually I should probably run to Target and get some more laundry detergent. That way I can do laundry and clean at the same time -- doubly efficient! And maybe look for that lip gloss...
I've had two scripts due and have spent every waking moment either a) assiduously writing a script, or b) even more assiduously avoiding anything that might be construed as writing. As a result, if someone came to my apartment right now, there is a very good chance they would call the police to report a break-in and ransacking. Shambles.
The most painful part of writing isn't the writing. Even when it goes badly, it's still rewarding. What IS painful and not at all rewarding is the avoidance -- at all costs -- of the writing. And it makes no sense!! It's a peculiar, illogical, contrary and even self-destructive impulse. Why avoid what clearly needs to be done, especially if that task is something I enjoy?
Yet I have managed to develop an acute case of ADD whenever I sit down at the screen. There are always all sorts of issues with the surroundings. This chair is uncomfortable. Perhaps I should take my laptop onto the bed or couch where I can really get some writizzzzzzzz.
(Forty minutes later, having woken up from nap and returned to table)
I don't like the light in this corner of the apartment. Mostly because there is none. I was so dumb to put the writing table in the corner that gets the least light. Maybe I should move the furniture. But if I move the table to where the couch is, I'll have to move the TV as well. It shouldn't take that long to hook up the cable again, should it?
(Fifty-eight minutes later, having been unable to reinstall cable on other end of apartment)
No, I should write. It's good for me. Ooh, speaking of which, I haven't worked out since last year. I should do that. Plus, I read that whenever you get the urge to exercise, you should take advantage of it, especially when trying to get back in shape, which I've been meaning to do. (You know, that advice makes no sense at all if I think about it. Substitute any word for "exercise" in that sentence and the problem becomes even clearer. I must have read it in Self Magazine. It's so them to say that.) I've been meaning to go for a hike. I should just grab my shoes.
(Fourteen minutes later, having finally found shoe under pile of laundry)
Oh shoot. My shoes still have that broken lace. Man, those things have lived and died. I really need to get some new ones at some point. And some yoga pants. I miss those perfect yoga pants that GapBody used to make. I should see if someone's selling them on ebay.
(Between twenty minutes and two hours later, depending on what's on ebay)
Ooh! Speaking of which, I still need a glass globe light covering for my lamp. I should go back and check for that too. You know, if I'd taken care of that already, then I wouldn't have the problem of this dark corner where the writing table is to begin with. I'm hungry. I should heat up something. It's so unhealthy to just heat up pretend food out of boxes this way. I should learn to cook. Really learn to cook, so I know recipes by heart and can cook a different dinner for every day of the month. I should run to the market and get some food. I know I'll do much better work if I have a proper meal, with vegetables, some chicken, a little wine. What's something easy? Epicurious must have something easy.
(Forty-five minutes later; back from store with steak that goes straight to freezer, cookie dough, and wine).
I need to start organizing my shopping trips a little bit better. I'd rather go in and buy hemerrhoid cream and pregnancy tests than cookie dough and wine. The clerk just looks at me and sighs. And this is a clerk who sees the purchases of Tommy Lee and all the Sunset Blvd rocker wannabes. How is cookie dough and wine even raising an eyebrow here? I'm probably just self-conscious. I have been ever since that one time when I realized -- as the clerk was scannng the items -- that I was buying Lean Cuisines, white wine, and cat food and started laughing uncontrollably at how I had become a Katherine Mansfield story told via shopping list. Or a Cathy cartoon, but the Katherine Mansfield analogy made me a little less queasy. Anyway, what's he looking at me pityingly for? It goes well with more than seafood!
(Five minutes later, having found remaining clean wineglass and spoon)
I should make some room on the table for the wineglass and cookie dough. Move these magazines.Y'know, I hate everything about that chica on the cover. EVERYTHING. I would gladly set her on fire, and then go date her so so hot and so so deserving of better lovely point guard. (note to self: he is however a French point guard -- quite possibly a wine snob -- maybe don't fall on the cookie-dough-and-pinot-grigio sword quite so hard as habit may have to be jettisoned once I have set The Horror on fire.) I do not, on the other hand, hate the lipstick she is wearing. I love it. I wonder what kind it is?
(Twenty minutes later; having perused issue of Allure thoroughly).
Personali-Tea Color Juice Stick by Loreal. Hmm...says it's a lip balm. I don't believe that. Those are not just her lips. Oh well. It's really close to my other favorite lip gloss. Probably a really dumb way to spend $10 anyway. Especially if I wanna get that globe for my lamp so I can quit sitting in the dark. Where is that lip gloss anyway? I should put some on.
And on and on it goes. Curiously, the only distraction I am able to avoid is cleaning. I like to think that it's because I realize that is at least a three hour distraction and I can't rationalize it the way I can a quick 20 minute trip to the store, but it MAY just be laziness. But now, with nothing to distract me, I can finally clean! Yaay! No more living in a hovel with a floor that needs to be swept and bathroom tiles that need to be scrubbed and takeout containers that need to be tossed! Let the cleaning begin!
Actually I should probably run to Target and get some more laundry detergent. That way I can do laundry and clean at the same time -- doubly efficient! And maybe look for that lip gloss...
posted by Diana Dare @ 3:26 PM
1 Comments:
At 1:04 PM,
procrastinatrix said…
It's like you know me so well.
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