Introductory Procrastination

Do you ever have those days when you do everything but the thing you're meant to be doing? I'm having one of those today, which is why I'm here blogging instead of, you know, doing the thing I'm meant to be doing.

It's not that I haven't given this thing a lot of thought. I have. I thought about it then started it, then thought about it some more then scrapped what I'd started, then re-started, then thought about the re-start and scrapped that too.

At one point this afternoon I had worked my procrastinatory thinking into an absurd circular argument, which didn't help with progress at all.

On the positive side, I've learnt over the years when to abandon something and go to bed. The abridged sequence is as follows:

1. Sigh regularly while sitting at the computer for several hours: type something, sigh, delete it, type something else, sigh, delete it, type something else, sigh, and et cetera.

2. Lie on the couch because you may have better luck thinking over there.

3. As soon as you realise lying on the couch makes no discernible difference to the quality of your thought (this usually takes two to three minutes), return to the computer and do something completely unrelated to the thing you're meant to be doing.

MCL, this seems like a perfect time to show you the piccy I came across in Frankie of that great cat-print suit:




I'm sure you would look totally hot in this and I vote you dedicate your next pay to the purchase of it (or else get work to pay for it; it's clearly an office essential).

4. Having done something completely unrelated to the thing you're meant to be doing, return to the thing you're meant to be doing and say out loud: "Screw this, I'm going to bed," then go to bed.

Works for me every time.

"Dear [Complete Stranger], let me tell you all about me..."

Have you ever, inexplicably and uncharacteristically, loathed someone or something? I have, right now in fact; this very minute I am loathing someone for the something that they do. This person and this thing make me so mad I want to hurl mud pies at some Coalition backbencher. No wait, that's a pretty normal day. Let me try again:

This person and this thing make me so mad I want to dash off a whimsical limerick damning her and the thing she does.

[Wow, that was completely lame but I'm really not a violent person and the thought of doing things to eyeballs (say) with sand and such kind of grosses me out, so unfortunately a limerick is as nasty as I get. This is disappointing on many, many levels.]

So what has this fiendish person done to warrant my (very gentle and quite well-meaning) wrath? Why she sends out a little email newsletter, advertising herself and CRAPPING ON.

Crapping on isn't bad in itself, it's just you can crap on about vaguely interesting things or you can crap on about totally dumb things, and she craps on about totally dumb things.

So far, through her email newsletters, I've learned what she's serving at her Christmas party, that I can follow her on Facebook (yay), and what her cat thinks about, you know, stuff.

AND she invites people to write in and answer questions etc but then never writes back. Not so much as a blank reply.

AND her silly email template only puts my surname in the greeting, so it always starts along the lines of "Hey [SMITH (say)]," which makes me feel like we're totally best friends... not.

I bet you're thinking, "Jeez, unsubscribe and get over it, you crazy nutbar," but the truth is I wouldn't fully appreciate how good some stuff is on the net if I didn't have her newsletter reminding me how totally shit it can be. So, loathsome chick with your loathsome newsletter, I salute you.

Canberry good times

I was going to start with a specific apology for leaving that annoying photo of the bubble-wrapped man-boy at the top of the page for a whole week, then I thought it's probably best if I throw in a nice general apology because this loose collection of paragraphs is almost entirely bereft of ideas and I'm sure your time could be more valuably spent (especially if you are a cardiologist, or work at Dolce and Gelato on King Street).

My small boy and I are in Canberra at the moment: finger painting (small boy), drinking too much (me), and running around the backyard (both of us). It's very hot but my parents' house is cool, and there's very little we need to do (other than finger paint, drink, and run around the backyard).

I did venture out to buy Turkish bread and hummus this afternoon and managed to discover a bookshop that made me realise how little I know about Communist revolutions, *sigh*. I joined their book club mailing list so hopefully my days of being a Communist revolution ignoramus are all but over (hold onto your seats, dinner party guests).

In other exciting news my parents have some great posters hanging on their toilet walls at the moment, most notably one of a sketch by Donald Friend (noice), and another advertising the 'Treasures of the National Library' exhibition opening at the National Lib in 2010 (which is VERY exciting). But that's not the end of the mind-blowing news: I'm happy to report I had a short nap on the couch this afternoon, after which I found some nice smelling flowers in the garden, and we finished the day with a very pleasant stir fry for dinner.

I know, the fun never stops; how glad are you that you read all the way to the end? Not very? Fair enough. But in my defence I did warn you about the complete lack of substance that was to follow; hopefully next time you'll take me seriously and watch Question Time instead.

Some inanity from the day

I meant to write something tonight about the process of reverse gentrification going on in my suburb but fell asleep on the couch at eight o'clock and have just woken up now... in time to go to bed.

In lieu of anything actually worthy of your time, please find below a photo of something we saw at the park this afternoon:

Surprisingly it's not a giant, disfigured cotton bud but some wacky man-boy wrapped in bubble wrap hanging upside down on some ropey play equipment with his two friends.

Here he is again launching himself down the hill between the slippery dips:

Why anyone would do this is a mystery to me.

On the plus side, we saw some pretty ducks:


Then we looked closer and realised they were crazy alien zombie ducks:



You'd think with all the red lines I draw on photos I'd be better at it, but no. On the other hand, I'm not sure I made the duck look all that much worse, considering his/her zombie status.

So overall and in summary (as I used to start the concluding paragraph of all my year seven essays), it was a largely mystifying day.

Share the love: what's mystified you this week?

A question regarding those writerly types

I sent an email recently to a Sydney writer's literary agent inviting both said Sydney writer and agent to my Christmas party; everyone loves fruit mince pies, a nice brewski and some Christmas cheer, right? And even if they don't, I love sending emails so my invitation was going to happen regardless of the consensus on fruit mince pies, beer and Christmas cheer.

So off my email went, and I wasn't actually expecting a reply but this has just turned up in my inbox from Mr/Ms Literary Agent:

Many thanks for the invitation. If I hadn't had to say no to so many invitations for [insert name here] I might be able to accept. Alas, it isn't possible.

In terms of logic, there's no particular reason why saying no to other invitations precludes the acceptance of mine, right? Just like if a waiter asks you if you'd like to order something from the specials menu you're not automatically barred from ordering off the full menu as well, yeah?

On the positive side, I like any email that includes the word 'alas'. It is a seriously under-used words these days; join with me to bring back 'alas'! (In fact, if you have a spare moment today I would love it if you joined me on one of my other campaigns: I am currently most concerned with disengaging 'augurs' from 'well'; do not go 'auguring well' into that good night, I say!)

But back to the email, my questions to you are:
1. Should I reply?
2. If so:
2.1. Should I reply knowingly, like I'm on top of the fact I've been bumped for no logical reason but with all the good cheer implied by 'alas'? OR
2.2. Should I respond with 'tude?

Or:

3. Should I quietly and humbly accept that I am not a unique and beautiful snowflake but in fact simply one of the Christmas-party-inviting hordes?

What say you?

Not a good couple of days

My son broke his arm early this morning.

My Grandad died a couple of days ago. The funeral is on Thursday.

With each draft this post has gotten shorter and shorter so that now there is barely anything left. I can't figure out how to put an ache into words.