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    Showing posts with label procrastination. Show all posts
    Showing posts with label procrastination. Show all posts


  1.  







    Hi all.  Have I mentioned that I am a terrible procrastinator?  I allow things to become a heavy weight on me.  One recent example is my taxes.  Each year in recent times, I get a refund.  This is a good thing.  I need the refund badly.  Each year, I tell myself not to procrastinate next year since it means money for me.  And yet I do.  This year, I expected to do it in February, but I didn’t.  March went by.  Then April.  They extended the deadline until May 17th.  I did it on May 12th.  It could’ve been way worse.  After I did it, it felt like a weight was lifted off of me.  I thought about why I let it get to that point.  I think feeling weighed down is the norm for me.  Awful thing to continue.  Whenever I think about the taxes being done, I sigh with relief.  I can’t wait for the refund.  I have to admit that there is something else I am procrastinating about which may be what made doing the taxes seem approachable.  I’m a trip in many ways.


     

    After I get my refund, my next t-shirt is coming out!


     

    In my decluttering, I found some comedy notes I’d written and forgotten about.  They made me laugh.  I’m too often gloomy.  Knowing that in my misery, I am still funny, feels very good.


     

    My dreams lately have continued to be very dramatic – a man calling me telling me it’s a matter of life and death, another where a man who had a crush on me and me on him (in real life) had a hugging interaction (in the dream), but I was concerned about COVID and asked him if he’s been vaccinated.  I don’t remember him answering but we hugged and so did our bodies.  Lordy Lordy.  Dreams like that make me think maybe I haven’t totally closed up shop.  Not sure.


     

    In real life, I haven’t hugged my close friends or anyone since the pandemic.  I miss hugs.  Especially those with my son.


     

    I was part of a zoom poetry reading tonight hosted by Lucy Aponte.  I am glad for these moments that make me feel I’m still here doing things.  The pandemic, to some degree, solidified my hermit ways.  So interacting with others is a big deal.  The event went very well – mostly Bronx folks.  Everyone’s work was passionate.  My poems were not necessarily on happy topics, but many of them were funny.  Folks were laughing.  It felt so satisfying, like a delicious meal.

     



     

     

     

     

    Love always to CGG-M ❤💜❤


    Mindy Matijasevic, May 2021

     

    Posted by Mindy Matijasevic at 6:57 PM | Labels: , , , , , | 7 comments | |

  2.  








    A few days back, I received an email inviting me to submit poems for the anthology they put out yearly.  The deadline is June 11th.  Normally I’d probably be scrambling on June 10th, but I was busy procrastinating doing something else that was due immediately, so I sent my poems.  The person wrote back thanking me for my promptness.  I had to chuckle.  Meanwhile, I had allowed something else get to a point of almost missing out on something important.  How you see me really depends on how, where, and when we meet.


     

    A friend from when I was 15-16 years old, a senior in high school, who I have been lucky to reconnect with in the last decade or more, ordered several of my ‘divorce’ t-shirts, and then instead of just paying for the shirts, sent more than double the bill.  I shake my head even as I read what I just wrote.  I was raised to not feel very deserving.  Experiences like this thankfully interfere with my brain’s wiring or something.  Mainly I find myself shaking my head in disbelief.  I thank God/dess for the angels on Earth.  I don’t yet have words for how deep this goes for me.  On a practical note, it means my phone is still in service.





     

    One of the craziest things I’ve read lately:

    https://bronx.news12.com/private-florida-school-won-t-employ-vaccinated-teachers

     


    Like the crazy man whose orange ass occupied the White House, they seem to think “medical freedom” means you have the right to make others sick and to discriminate against sane people. 


     

    In my life, I have often felt like Marilyn in “The Munsters.”  When a malignant narcissist is in a position of power, the entire country becomes sick.  Good is bad, and up is down.  The people who actually care about others are seen as the problem.  (At a former job, “nice” and “sincere” were used as insults, so what made me a hit with students caused conflict among some staff.)  It happens in unhealthy families, in unhealthy job settings, and now on a much larger scale.  To all the Marilyns out there, I appreciate you.

     

     


     


    So much love always to CGG-M ❤❤❤

     

    Mindy Matijasevic 

    4/2021

    Posted by Mindy Matijasevic at 7:41 PM | Labels: , , , , | 4 comments | |

  3. by Helene "Oh My GAWD What Day Is It???" Gresser


    Yes, I am going to thrill you and all that jazz (okay, maybe just make you go "hmmmm. Helene is weird" late tonight with my latest blentry. I've missed a couple Wednesdays, due to my ever-present wacky schedule and procrastination and neuroses. So, check out this site later, after I've met my cousins Jerry and Jack in the City to find bears (the hairy, thick, male kind) and beers and babkas. Yes, they like bears, as do I, and I have not seen them in 13 years or more, and family is most important, as I am so far from all my relatives and need to be reassured that I am still a member of my wacky tribe. You'd love Jerry and Jack. Come join us as we walk the High Line, peruse Eataly, and ogle chest hair and beards in a gay bar somewhere or just hang out in the Village outside The Olive Tree Cafe and watch the parade of kidz and weirdos.

    I love writing for this blog. Sorry I have neglected thee, my dear readers. I am lying before you, supine, and you may whip me with your cat-o-nine-tails. Please?

    -hmg

    Posted by Spleen at 11:46 AM | Labels: , , , , , , , , | 1 comments | |

  4. Cognitive Organization

    Monday, February 18, 2013


    By Samantha DeRose

    Well, it’s Monday, it’s the first day of winter break, and it’s my blog day and I’ve got nothin’.  Nuthin, I tell ya.

    I started to write a “To Don’t List” but ditched it after too many double negatives.  I didn’t want it to not be funny.

    I started to write a short story, but started watching Enlightened and got distracted.

    What I really need is some type of cognitive organization.  Not only am I a huge procrastinator, but I’m also one of those people who can’t seem to produce anything unless I’m under complete duress.  Why does that happen?

    I honestly don’t know how I function as a human being.  I’m the person who shops, cooks, and cleans two hours before throwing a party.   Do NOT EVER open a closet or look under the beds if you attend a function at our house.  My mother used to have us preparing 2 weeks before a party.  We referred to that timeframe as PHS.  Pre-Holiday Syndrome.

    I didn’t even plan having my children when they came along.  That’s not saying that I wasn’t happy with the results, but you get the point.

    Do you really want to know how many calendars, alarms, reminder systems I have in my life to help me to be better at planning ahead?

    You see?  I just typed all of that and then I googled, “Creativity under pressure” and read about 17 articles instead of writing my blog.  (I refrained from googling, “Do Cats Burp”… a real exercise in restraint).

    This one http://janemckaycomms.wordpress.com/2012/09/18/being-creative-under-pressure/ was of no help.  You know what it said?  Sometimes deadlines can be good and sometimes they can be hamper creativity.  The author also said that he likes to HAND WRITE his projects first.  The only thing I hand write are passes to the clinic and I usually have the kid fill it out and I sign it.  Thanks for nothing, author.

    This one http://www.premiumbeat.com/blog/project-estimation/ says to sharpen your estimation skills.  You want to know how good I am at estimating?  I estimated the qualities of a good husband.  A rough estimate.  Nuf said.

    This one http://daredreamermag.com/2010/02/17/creativity-under-pressure-will-often-yield-a-diamond/ says that Creativity under pressure will often end with great results.  If you read my blog from last week, you will know that the song I wrote and performed on stage that very night flopped.  Hardly a diamond yielded.

    I completely understand that working well under pressure is sometimes good, however, it’s become a lifestyle for me.  A lifestyle that doesn’t build in margins of error such as traffic, hard drives crashing, dinner burning, washing machines breaking, cars that need to be shoveled out before work, concussions, you name it.

    For once, I just want an orderly brain.

    Am I alone?

    Working titles for my short story:  Creatures of Habit, Broken Habits



    Posted by She So Funny at 10:26 AM | Labels: , , | 2 comments | |

  5. BACK TO THE FUTURE

    Wednesday, January 9, 2013

    by Helene "Tomorrow Is Another Day" Gresser

    I just had a birthday this week, and I am unphased by turning another year older except for the fact that I have no life plan, no real goals set for myself. I am floating through the days lately. Drifting. On autopilot. It’s not bad, but it’s not very good.
    I made a concerted effort this past year to stop living in the past and being filled with regret and angst – torturing myself with bad decisions made and opportunities missed was filling my head and heart with too much baggage. The decision to stop wondering “what if I had done THIS instead?” happened when my former fiancé - a man I had dated for seven years, a man to whom I had lost my virginity and loved deeply but left because I was twenty-three and graduating college and confused and I stupidly thought I was in love with someone else – told me this spring he was divorcing his wife and had moved out and was in love with someone else. And I had to finally let go of the years of wondering if we might ever get back together. Some twenty-three years after I had called off the wedding, I called off the fantasy of reconciliation and rekindling of romance and a life with someone who had known me since I was in high school.
    Twenty-three years is a long time to live with regret. Life is not a movie in which all is neatly tied up with happily ever after. It was time to move on and live my life, even if it meant never finding someone who will know me well, love me anyway, and want to spend the rest of their life with me. I mourned briefly, but then felt the weight of years of guilt and doubt lift from my shoulders. He had moved on, and I was ready to open my eyes and arms to something new. I knew I might remain single forever. But I am eternally hopeful, as you might have gathered from my previous writings.
    Living in the present is very difficult. And planning for the future is so overwhelming to me that I have avoided thinking about it, lest I create a fluttering panic and nausea that overtakes me and prevents sleep. But it creeps up in the wee hours, as most folks are snuggled in bed, and the undone things begin to undo me. I surf the web. I fuck around on Facebook. I smoke a cigarette and stare at my papers. I take a walk around the block. I used to go to Elaine’s after midnight to have a drink and gossip with the regulars and stay until well past three a.m. Anything to avoid thinking about what I need to do.
    Getting involved with someone is a nice distraction from the panic. But then that becomes a delicious way of avoiding making plans for me.  Instead, sex takes precedence. The great book “The War of Art” calls this “Resistance.” I get wrapped up in the guy, the relationship, the angst and fervor and lovesickness, and I don’t have to think about creating. I focus on someone else, because that is easier than looking at my mess and evaluating how to make my life and career into something I love. The minutiae of a disciplined approach to my craft, my survival jobs, my well-being; it’s just too damn tedious. Let me just lie here in bed with this warm man and watch old movies instead. Sure, let’s go the dive bar tonight, and sleep until noon the next day. I’ll run to the 7-11 and get us some more ciggies and donuts and then we’ll have another romp. And six months goes by, bam. Bam. The things undone are still waiting. And waiting. And the fluttering resumes.
    I don’t know how to break the cycle, but I think I am working on the tiniest of cracks with my little nail file, perhaps eventually working my way to finding a pickaxe and then a wrecking ball to smash it wide open. Living smaller so I can make room for bigger things is a start. Oh holy hell, it seems insurmountable, this sorting and consolidating and prioritizing. I’d rather do just about anything else.
    But I want to wake up one day and not have that dread feeling of wasted time tickling my gut. Resistance is futile.

    -hmg

    Posted by Spleen at 9:15 PM | Labels: , , , , , , , | 4 comments | |