Procrastinate. 750 Words Sunday, 14 August 2011.


I can sit here procrastinating all I want but thats not going to get any fucking work done.

Who is the person who can change the way I live. Me.

Who is the one who can get me moving forward in a career in writing. Me.

Who is the one who can help me achieve all my goals. Me.

Thats right I’m the only one who can do it. I can sit around waiting for someone else to drop into my life and hold my hand through it and lead the way but I’d be following there direction not my own. I need to walk my own path to success or failure. Wait for that person to lend me that helping hand is only going to course me to sit here procrastinating that my work isn’t getting done. I’m sitting here right now listening to Audioslave’s ‘Show me ow to live’ is that just ironic, or do I just like this song? It could be a little bit of both really, some kind of subconscious thing, my brain is trying to tell me something. And now the Foo Fighters ‘Big Me’ just started *sigh*.

My biggest problem is the body of work I give myself, I can’t just think about one thing at a time I keep drifting from idea to idea, never staying with one long enough to finish it.

Okay I just selected ‘All I Wanted’ By Paramore. For some reason I was thinking about this song last night. I knew sound and the tune but couldn’t remember the name.

II guess I’ll be sitting here, in front of my Mac procrastination for most of the day, unless I go for a walk which is what I usually do when I feel this way. Crappy, lost, useless, idiotic, screaming at myself “Why can’t I do it”. I put so much effort into complaining about it rather then just doing it. There it is again “SHUT THE FUCK UP AND JUST DO IT”. What is a writer who only thinks about writing?

The outside is looking more and more inviting to me right now, I think I might just get dressed and go out for a walk. It always starts out as a ‘I need to think’ kind of walk but I never goes that way, my mind will wonder and I’ll think about the things most guys do. Women. I never get on to the subject of writing. I’ll been doing this 750 words thing for awhile now, everyday I sit here and write 750 or more words, usually what ever is on my mind, I tell myself that I’m trying to get into the habit of writing daily, but all I ever do is my 750, once thats done I’m like “Well, thats todays writing done” I then close the word processing application and stop for the day, I then sit on Google+ Twitter Youtube Vimeo, and from time to time I pop my head into Facebook for a quick look. Holy shit my life is so fucking boring.

Who is the one who can make my life more interesting. Me.

I try to tell myself this stuff everyday, but it never really works. I could say that I have so much negative reenforcement here. But as I’ve never really cared what the people here think any way what does that matter. Plus succeeding in this writing thing would allow me to rub it in there faces, and that should be all the incentive I’ll ever need to sit here day after day until I have something worth showing the world, or at least the internet. Short films, short stories, anything I have the ideas good or bad I have them, and I’ll never stop thinking about them until I can get them out of my head and onto white pixelated paper. Until I figure this out I’m afraid I’ll post more whinny blogs about not being able to do it.

If I can’t do it why do I continue to torture myself with it. Because without it, I really don;t have anything except the life that everyone else around me has. Work, TV, Pub, Sleep repeat. Mortgage, Car, Credit Card debt (again/still) two point four children. Get married and do the same thing for the rest of my life. In my case most likely security. This is a life that will force me to just commit suicide. Don’t get me wrong as long as I’m doing a job I like or making a living doing something I actually want to do, then the rest is fine. But I’m not sure I could stand to live a life where I have all the above and a job I fucking hate doing every week. Waking up and the first thing I think about is “Can I fake illness to get off work today?” I’ve said it before, that if I’m still doing security when I’m forty I’ll commit suicide to just end a miserable life and a future of dull endless thankless work.

Who is the one who can stop this from happening. Me.



Sorry for the whiny, moany post today but thats where my head is today.

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