I'm on vacation this week.
It's 5:15pm and I'm running out of ways to stop the procrastination. Maybe my first blog post in months will help. It probably won't. I'm at a stage-five level of self-aware laziness and piece-of-shitery. Even the phrase I just coined, "piece-of-shitery", is dreadfully uninspired. Allow me to recap what I've done today:
11:14am- I wake up from a dream. I'm the bowl-haired, plump, and round-glasses wearing zero I was in high school again. A girl I once made out with from the neighborhood's mom was the primary antagonist. She was upset with me because I made a makeshift bowling alley on the sidewalk and used my dog as the bowling ball. Her main gripe was that I pushed my dog, Cookie, too hard and she almost went into the street, as if to say "go easy on the dog while you're using it as a fucking bowling ball."
To make matters worse, she stuffed a hundred dollar bill and four singles into my dog's mouth because "I need it more than she does." After digging the $104 out of poor Cookie's pie-hole, I told my Old Man what had happened. He grabbed his Carhardt hoodie and bolted out the door to confront her, much to my chagrin (I didn't want this lady to think I was a rat.)
I wake up before the showdown.
11:15am - I realize it was all a dream and immediately try to go back to sleep to see the showdown.
11:17am - My phone starts ringing, interrupting my quest to delve back into my subconscious.
11:20am - I concede this to be a futile endeavor and attempt a start at my day. The puddle of drool on my pillow could fill a baby bottle. I flip the pillow over so it's clean for tonight. I notice that in my tossing and turning, half of my bedsheets have fallen off and my mattress is fully exposed. I don't care.
I'm going to do some writing today, I tell myself. I'm going to bang out at least 30 pages of my screenplay. No fucking around. No procrastinating.
11:22am- I check my phone to see who's called. Voice mail from a focus group that pays me large sums of money to sit around and give my opinions on things (as spoken about on the Doorman: Just the Tips Podcast). It's the easiest money in the world. I call back and they tell me that there's a 45 minute group about laundry that pays $100 at 1pm, but they've filled the spot already. Fuck. My laziness has already cost me 100 bucks and it's not even fucking noon yet.
11:23am- Take a whiz.
11:25am- Sit down on my couch with my laptop and open it, with the full-intention of getting started on my writing. I open Facebook first. My friend has left this hilarious video of hack German filmmaker Uwe Boll on my wall:
Uwe Boll is the gift that keeps on giving.
11:29am- I re-watch the video.
11:33am- I click on another video on Uwe Boll's page. Down the rabbit hole I go!!!
12:16pm- I've grown tired of Uwe Boll. I realize that I've been up for almost an hour and haven't done any writing yet.
12:17pm- I open my screenwriting program and realize that it's after noon and I haven't eaten. Well, I can't be under-nourished and expect to be creatively inspired.
12:18pm- I pull out eggs, sausage, bread, and butter. Literally the only things I have to cook in my refrigerator.
12:27pm- I've whipped up a meal that I eat at least 6 times per week: Over-easy eggs on buttered toast with two pieces of maple sausage. Breakfast/Lunch of champions (I won't call it brunch because it implies I'm meeting people and being active and social).
12:29pm- I need some ambient noise while I eat, so I turn on Jerry Springer.
12:30pm- I stuff my face.
1:00pm- 31 minutes of a white-trash couple renewing their vows and a subsequent wedding-cake fight once it's revealed that the bride has been cheating, I'm ready to start writing.
1:01pm- I get a text from a friend I'm supposed to have drinks with later, who can no longer make it out. We exchange our schedules for the next week (which is exclusively her telling me her conflicts and available time slots, and my replying with, "Sure, that works. I have nothing going on.")
1:06pm- Screenwriting program still open. I decide that I should take a trip while I'm off from work.
1:16pm- I debate going to Baltimore to visit Camden Yards, or Fenway to see the Red Sox. I've already seen the Sox once, so I lean towards taking a day trip to Baltimore tomorrow.
1:23- My mind drifts into this chain of useless thoughts. Baltimore and Red Sox are both in the AL East. The Yankees are in the AL East as well. The Yankees hate the Red Sox. The Orioles, Yankees, and Red Sox are all teams the Mets played in the World Series. I love the Mets. They're my favorite. They break my heart. Why do they do that? Oh, to be a Mets fan in the 80's...
2:33pm- I'm an hour into watching Game 6 of the 1986 World Series. Some asshole put the whole game up on YouTube and now I can't stop watching, even though I've seen how it ends thousands of times. I'm streaming it from my laptop to my television. Isn't technology AMAZIN'?!?! (See what I did there?)
4:11pm- I scratch my testicles and perineum as Keith Hernandez flies out to center in the bottom of the 10th to bring the Mets to their final out.
4:23pm- "Little roller up along first.... BEHIND THE BAG!!! IT GETS THROUGH BUCKNER!!! HERE COMES KNIGHT AND THE METS WIN IT!!!!"
And that's as far as I got in writing this. If memory serves, I believe I jerked off and took a two-hour nap, then closed out the evening with Chipotle, Ben & Jerry's, and Orange is the New Black. I remember this because of the look of pity and disgust on the cashier's face when I lazily slid my pint of "Stephen Colbert's AmeriCONE Dream" across the counter, all disheveled, scruffy, and smelling like the back of a fat guy's knee. Whatever. She's punching keys on a cash register and I'm just here living the dream.
(I never made it to Baltimore, but I DID finish season 3 of Orange is the New Black in under 48 hours, so... yeah. )