Saturday, 23 June 2012

There Is No Reason For This Post Whatsoever

Been feeling a lack of productivity lately. Seems like the minute I'm ready to get on with the myriad of things I ought to do, a bunch of far better alternatives present themselves. Why then, I ask, do they not exist on days when there is nothing pressing to do and thus nothing is done at all??

It's a little bit twisted, really.

But then I realised that in some ways, it's alright. Such as, I like making lists, and I'm disappointingly good at it. Plus, I can spend approximately half a day doing so, creating the illusion of being an productive member of the human race whilst actually doing nothing of the sort. Brilliant, isn't it? No, actually.

Contemplating the ever-increasing work list for this summer, I also realised that in many ways I'm over-dramatic and silly. I automatically add stuff to the list that doesn't need to be done; they're just things that rotate in the recesses of my brain, as potential tasks that aren't essential, but could be done if I were so inclined. Truth is, I never am inclined, but those recesses need to be doing something, I suppose. Also, I found myself transposing the same list in various different forms across various pieces of paper, so that my desk is now strewn with six different nagging possibilities. Not so encouraging, really.

But then I thought about the list. About 67% of it (approximate, unsurprisingly) is made up of books which I need to read before college begins again in September (8 in total). I've spent the last two weeks whining to anyone who has been stupid enough to listen about this 'ridiculous' and 'unreasonable' amount of work that I 'don't want to do'. Which is insanity, really, considering I had already created a list of 12 books I had been planning on reading this summer, just for fun. So what makes the difference between 8 eughhghhhhhsss and 12 yeeeeeeeeahs? Probably the fact that the latter were decided by me and the former rather thrust upon me by the academic Powers that Be. It seems I don't enjoy doing something that I enjoy if I'm told to do it; but getting there on my own is completely fine. Yeah, it's screwy. It's screwy and I don't appreciate my hypocrisy. Yet still, here I am complaining about it instead of just sitting down and reading the damn dictated things. Why the injustice, brain?

Basically, I don't know. This kind of pointless hypocrisy seems to be a recurring character trait that I ought to see to. The whole mindset of 'old dogs, new tricks' things has always bugged me, of course. But chances of motivation are still slim. So what to do there?

It's a Saturday here, and since I woke up annoyingly early this morning, I have had approximately 50 minutes of productivity, and then spent the following 8 hours of time in shifting my sitting-position to incorporate the new snack acquired and comfiest positioning of my laptop. It's senseless, but the grip is just so stroooooooooooooooonnggggggg. And if it hasn't occurred to you until now - yes, I am quite useless. A Hopeless Case, if you will.

And frankly, this post is losing steam.

Basically, in an attempt to become enlivened with passion and zeal for life or whatever, I was hoppin' all over the internet reading things and reading about people and shizz. I came across a load of crap that just fuelled my vegetation, but then I also came across these two photographers who do some amazing things and they're young too, which I like. It's kind of like, well if they've done all this and achieved stuff by 22 years, then what the hell am I doing? Answer = I'm doing nothing. Or rather, I've started some things, but that's it. So I managed to read another page of my book, but then I spent another hour looking at all their photos. Yeah. THANKS, GUYS. Anyways, the fact that I managed to write all these words and things makes me feel a little better. It's superficial, but whatever. And I guess I've got better hopes for tomorrow. Or delusions, go for synonyms..

Conclusions? If Saturdays were made for productivity, I wouldn't be invited. Score.

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