You should poison me and feed me to the crocodiles.
The sentence is shadowed by the meaning that if I'm going to die anyway (from some inescapable fate other than crocodile bites) that you (to whomever it is I am speaking) should be a bit utilitarian and poison my body so that it can in turn eliminate that pesky crocodile problem.
Beats me. I have an odd dream or two every single night, not the kind that everyone has like going to work naked. I have dreams that involve treachery and adrenaline and breathless fear or nervousness, being on the run, one step ahead of the cops or a manipulative gang of thieves or saving the last hold-out of humanity from dinosaurs or plagues all coupled with a bit of absurdity like eating fried eggs of off broad, black-and-white school clocks for plates and sticking my ears into ear-pants so they can hear independently of my body.
I need to apologize to my friends and to myself for not posting regularly for over two months. There have been sparks of desire to write, little ideas I wanted to commit to text, but I've been either distracted by school and work or just distracted altogether by trying to avoid school and work. Time spent in front of the computer is in AC while time spent away from the computer is usually spent entertaining folks at the house or watching a movie or doing housework or backlogged chores.
Thrilling, isn't it?
I try to make the most of my time, but I always miss my mark and get lost along the way. I should ignore the chores and just work on the stuff that's important, but I'm behind in everything and when dishes reach critical mass and I'm tired of making do with a broken lamp for five months, I get frustrated enough that I push the school work back to make my space more livable.
I'm not that tired. I'm not that busy. But I should be.
I'm so behind in everything and been that way for so many years that it's almost the status quo. I don't know how to work if I'm not in a mad dash to catch up. I think that's where a lot of my procrastination comes from. I put off getting started until the absolute need to start work becomes critical, then I find the motivation I needed. It's a learned habit as much as anything else.
And I'm not even getting any other work done in the meantime of procrastination. My house isn't clean. My office isn't organized. My webpage isn't updated. My weights that my father gave me are untouched. My clean laundry is still stacked in piles on the bedroom floor. My five month old hemming and mending is slowly getting done, but only when I'm watching a movie and feeling creative. But I feel guilty working on anything else when I should be working on school work, so nothing gets done, and I waste my time.
If I'm going procrastinate, I make the most of it! My house should be spotless, my journal updated thrice daily, my memoirs organized and tucked away in scrapbooks, etc. etc. etc.
I suppose it's not all bad. I'm having lots of sex. I've watched all of StarTrek: Deep Space Nine (loaned from Bill and Kirk) and it's now time to move on to Voyager (if one of my friends has it, but I don't think they do) or Babylon 5 seasons two through five (which Kirk has). I've visited with friends nearly every night, driven to see my family for Easter (in Hattiesburg, I even stopped at the oft-mentioned JavaWerks), and Isabelle has more attention from me than she can possibly want.
Now if my isp (Vista III Media) will quit being a jackass, I'll post this, fix myself a late lunch, and plan the rest of my afternoon.