Yesterday I was having a discussion about my writing. In particular the picture book that is in my head but hasn't quite made it on to paper yet.
Do you know the reason I gave for having done nothing with it yet? That I need to buy a notebook first.
A notebook?!
How many blank notebooks do I have already? But none of them inspire me. I want a bigger one. And some colouring pencils. Until the moment these tools are sitting in front of me, I couldn't possibly channel my genius into a useful form.
Ridiculous, yes. But I do it all the time, and I know you are a culprit too reader.
Instead of finishing the knickers that I'm supposed to be sewing for myself, yesterday I bought lots of new fabric to make a maxi-dress and something else that I haven't decided yet. Why do I not work out how to attached the elastic first before embarking on a new project?
On a much grander scale, I have pretty much written off this year as one of experiments. Get myself back in shape just in case dance work materialises; work as much as possible to save some money; embark on varying work experience placements to see if I actually like anything; write as much as possible.
Then next September, or before if I'm lucky, I'll actually pick something.
This is the shiny side of the coin that I'm presenting to the world but here's the truth:
This morning I could have got up and gone to ballet but I'm actually sitting on the sofa in my pyjamas (at least I'm writing!); I'm going on holiday in a couple of weeks (yayay!!) spending much of what I've saved recently; having done two publishing placements I'm stuck about what to try next- apparently my ideas began and ended with publishing; I make excuses about not having the correct type of notebook to explain my lack of actual written writing.
So what do I do? Procrastinate. Read. Tidy up. Play the ukulele. Look up where I'll go on holiday next. Look at my blog stats to see where people are reading my blog (this week UK, Russia, Peru).
The thing is that I love potential. The magic in a shapeless piece of fabric that could become a ball gown. The energy in an idea in my head that cold be beautiful but might lose steam as soon as I put it on paper. The nobility of my good intentions.
And I guess it all gives me an excuse for my great indecision.
It just occurred to me how often I have mentioned how indecisive I am about my life in this blog. I'm procrastinating by talking about why I'm procrastinating.
So this is where I'll leave you today. I need to sew my pants. No more distractions!
Do you know the reason I gave for having done nothing with it yet? That I need to buy a notebook first.
A notebook?!
How many blank notebooks do I have already? But none of them inspire me. I want a bigger one. And some colouring pencils. Until the moment these tools are sitting in front of me, I couldn't possibly channel my genius into a useful form.
Ridiculous, yes. But I do it all the time, and I know you are a culprit too reader.
Instead of finishing the knickers that I'm supposed to be sewing for myself, yesterday I bought lots of new fabric to make a maxi-dress and something else that I haven't decided yet. Why do I not work out how to attached the elastic first before embarking on a new project?
On a much grander scale, I have pretty much written off this year as one of experiments. Get myself back in shape just in case dance work materialises; work as much as possible to save some money; embark on varying work experience placements to see if I actually like anything; write as much as possible.
Then next September, or before if I'm lucky, I'll actually pick something.
This is the shiny side of the coin that I'm presenting to the world but here's the truth:
This morning I could have got up and gone to ballet but I'm actually sitting on the sofa in my pyjamas (at least I'm writing!); I'm going on holiday in a couple of weeks (yayay!!) spending much of what I've saved recently; having done two publishing placements I'm stuck about what to try next- apparently my ideas began and ended with publishing; I make excuses about not having the correct type of notebook to explain my lack of actual written writing.
So what do I do? Procrastinate. Read. Tidy up. Play the ukulele. Look up where I'll go on holiday next. Look at my blog stats to see where people are reading my blog (this week UK, Russia, Peru).
The thing is that I love potential. The magic in a shapeless piece of fabric that could become a ball gown. The energy in an idea in my head that cold be beautiful but might lose steam as soon as I put it on paper. The nobility of my good intentions.
And I guess it all gives me an excuse for my great indecision.
It just occurred to me how often I have mentioned how indecisive I am about my life in this blog. I'm procrastinating by talking about why I'm procrastinating.
So this is where I'll leave you today. I need to sew my pants. No more distractions!
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