By Beauty Damned

A Typical Weekend

I'm supposed to be writing a paper right now. And also reading two books and revising two stories. It's not that I don't feel like doing those things because I do. I wish I could do all of them at one time. So therefore I am doing none of them at all. It makes perfect sense.

I also need to eat something, do a mountain of dishes, clean out the catbox, drink a beer, do some laundry, check the mail, sort the old mail and the new mail, take a shower, vacuum the floor and lay down.

Instead, I am here at my computer, feeding my addiction to myspace and telling any stranger who is bored enough to read about it that I have so much to do that the list itself renders me useless.

I think I just wrote the textbook definition of "Procrastination." And I now feel pathetic enough - now that I have confessed and experienced shame - to do something about it. This house better watch out because it's about to get clean. And watch out world, because I am going to write the end all, be all of essays comparing the concerns of Blade Runner to those of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?. HA! HAAAAAAA!!!!