Despite what everyone in my life seems to believe, I am not productive in any way. The majority of my time is spent dreaming of well-crafted quesadillas, and that is just weekdays.
I am, in fact, one of the laziest human beings to have ever walked this beautiful, dying earth. My job requires that I sit behind a computer screen all day for the entire week, so most would assume that I would utilize my desk time and work on substancial things: some editorial work, personal email correspondence, a bit of Wikipedia research from time to time, all while listening to the newest musical releases from all around the world! Entirely wrong, people. I never get anything done, and here’s why:
1) The existence of water.
Water is essential for the regular function of body and mind, and I constantly forget to drink it. I even make a point to write “DRINK WATER” on my hand most days, but I am usually parched and wheezing by the time I get up to refill my water bottle. On the days where I “do the right thing” and hydrate my dumb ass, I completely overdue it and end up spending anywhere between 3-4 hours per day running to the bathroom, trying to not pee in my tights.
2) Text messaging.
I constantly move across the country and leave everyone I love behind for no reason other than personal whimsy. Last year, I lived in Ohio, Washington, and New Jersey. Before that, I was a North Carolinian and in two weeks, I’ll live in California. Being attached to my phone is the only way to keep the 3,000 people I love and care about in the loop while I’m taking the aforementioned trips to the bathroom. (Yep! If I text you, I am texting you from the toliet.) Technology is the only outlet I have to be still be a relavent friend and it is completely time consuming. On a daily basis, I introduce my cousins to my decaying banana breakfasts, show my best friend from high school highlights from the hometown police blotter, tell my grandma that I need a juicer, give Cynthia an adult acne update, talk lack-o-sex with a Chicago galpal, and get out-witted by my old coworker. Do not tell me to put my phone down.
3) This magazine you are currently looking at.
Do you know how hard it is to work a full-time job and maintain something you care about intensely when you still want to contribute to other creative projects, write a few letters, and eat a meal? What about if you’re trying to expedite the print version of the same magazine that is well overdue? No? Fuck off, then. Except all of you who contribute and support us. Don’t fuck off, I seriously love you.
4) Long lists.
Maybe it’s the retired stoner vibes mixing with my new “maturity” (type-A obsessiveness), but instead of actually do things, I tend to make a lot of lists of things I should start doing. Currently in my newest notebook, I have written the following lists just chock full of actions waiting to happen: LETTERS TO WRITE/RETURN, WRITE THESE STORIES DUDE, THINGS I’VE FORMALLY ACCEPTED AS “SOMETHING I AM GOOD AT”, EDIT AND POST THESE TO RASCAL, ADD TO OTHER LIST, THINGS ABOUT THAT PRETTY GIRL. I have four unfinished notebooks filled with similar titles, one of my personal favorites being, REASONS I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU THINK, YA WET-BLANKET DUMMY. One time, I even held a list writing workshop.
5) The people that keep doing insane things.
Why do we keep killing each other? And Burger King, are you kidding me? My morbid curiosity disallows me to turn my cheek to these stories as they constantly roll in, so I read and I read and I read the news, but I still don’t understand. A lot of hours I could spend getting things done are spent reading about these crazy motherfuckers shooting our babies and the companies producing “food” that is actually pink sludge designed to poison my body. What is wrong with everyone? Buy shit from farms and don’t hurt anyone so I can just write an article already. History’s pages (Tumblr) are also jam-packed with thousands of vintage crazies for me to obsess over. I cannot escape the humanity of it all, therefore, I get nothing done. Blame Charlie Manson.
6) Trying to impress a cutie.
I’ve been making a mix cd for someone for a month and a half because every single song has to be perfect. I will only choose the song off of an album that I’m already listening to, and I refuse to pick without listening to the whole thing and being mooooooved by one in particular. I have spent countless hours downloading (sorry, music industry), adding, erasing, and “listening to the flow” of these 17 stupid songs. Stop being cute and then I will stop making this cd and do my work. Stop. Okay, don’t stop. You’re so cute! I’m dying! Kiss me, you fool.
I wonder if this counts as doing something, or is just another example of me “Pullin’ A #4.” Regardless, I hope you accomplished more that I have today, yesterday, and the 22 years that came before those days.