The Fine Art of Procrastination

I realized today that I am probably the world's biggest slacker. Every time I sit down to do something quasi-productive, such as work on my book, I find myself immediately getting up to do something just the opposite. Usually, the first thing I do is pay my fridge a visit, scanning it's contents for something to keep me occupied. I don't do this because I'm hungry, but lazy. I honestly think that some of the world's most obese people are also the people who sit down to work on the most projects, and decide to go to the fridge instead.

If the fridge doesn't provide me with a viable alternative to the thing I actually set my mind on accomplishing, I go to the bathroom. After that, I check my iPhone, which was designed for people who, like me, are constantly seeking out things to distract them from all the things worthwhile in life. After I check my Facebook, see that nobody left me a comment, scan through the entire news feed to see what all of the people I haven't spoken to since high school are doing, I go to my Words with Friends ap, which is essentially a never-ending scrabble game. I usually have between 10 and 12 games going at any given time, which serves to gobble up about 15-20 minutes of my time. Once I have played words that make me feel like a prodigy in some games, and cursed my friends for having better letters than me in others, I check foursquare to see where the few friends I have on that ap are in our fair city, and see if I have earned any badges or mayorships.

Then I go back to the fridge for a minute, this time looking in the freezer. I didn't even think about the freezer the first time. I take out the sherbet, and make myself a bowl. I go back and sit down at my computer, really meaning to write this time.

After cranking out one painstaking sentence that looks stilted and awkward, I sit back, crack my knuckles, and wonder if I should even be writing. I think about calling a few different people, and think better of it. I stare at my blinking cursor, and decide that I need some caffeine to jumpstart my muse.

On the way out to the car, I have what alcoholics call a moment of clarity, and realize that I'm never going to write today if I remain in my natural habitat. I go upstairs and get my laptop, and drive to Barnes and Noble, where I am now sitting, help captive by the heavy downpour outside.

I haven't started working on my book yet, but this counts as warming up, right?