Friday, May 13, 2016

Procrastinate Now!


Don't get me wrong; as I wait for the day I start my new job, there are probably many things I could be doing: the vegetable garden has been ignored because of the rather inclement weather recently and when the sun came out it was far too bloody hot to be digging and weed clearing. There are probably many other little things that need doing - Doug proofing the house for when he's going to go into the inevitable separation anxiety - which probably won't be much different from how he is now; mad and destructive. The three girls just avoid him when he decides he's lost his mind and eats bits of the sofa or a dozen duck eggs - shells and all.

I'm in that weird state of limbo - a good kind, despite my protestations - of waiting to start the next stage of my life; it's all in place, we just need a number with a th after it.

As I said in the last blog, the last month hasn't been without it's depressing moments, but as I also said shit fades after a while - apart from white dog shit, which of course we rarely see now, even in places where people forget they have dog shit bags. I've been changing my schedule, so I haven't been completely wanky. My future shift pattern means that much of the dog walking duties will be the wife's responsibility (and that fills me with anxiety because despite being nutless Doug has a recall problem when he's bombing around terrorising slower dogs and you can't really chase after him), so as a result we went back to the old 3.30 walk which has slowly crept a little later and I took them out yesterday at a little before 4pm; it'll eventually be 4.30 when I start work and I'll only be available to walk them in the afternoon one week in four. See? This is how bloody bored I am, I'm managing to talk about the intricacies of dog walk scheduling with a professional aplomb and like it's the most exciting thing you'll read this week...

I could just abandon all hope, give The Imagination Station another read through and then print the bugger off. I'll be able to afford the ink soon, so that's an option. The problem is, unlike other would-be writers I know who are far more disciplined than me, I have the aversion to going back to it (for all the reasons given previously) but probably not because I hate it or think it's rubbish; probably more to do with over-exposure. Maybe if I just accept it's going to have mistakes in it (because of adding over 30,000 largely unedited edited words) I can return to it with a list of things to make it work/better? Who can say?

Another option I have is pretty much what I have been doing; carry on filling my days with nothing. I used to have no problem with being bored. I had this philosophy that take the boredom when it comes because it won't always be there; so I could pretty much do nothing for vast stretches and never feel as though I'd failed to achieve anything. Boredom occasionally allows for your mind to do other things than worse case scenarios, irrational bollocks and ruminating about things that are in the past and no one has any control over. The problem is I have so much of the former going on that trying to think of something else becomes difficult - like now...

My mate Tony said to me last week over a coffee and setting the world to rights, "You don't half know some obscure rubbish; what are you going to do when you start work, you'll have nothing to talk about!" Probably 'social issues' was my reply and we chuckled - that's pretty much what we talk about anyhow. The thing is he could be right. I have spent the last few years filling my day by reading all kinds of shit on line. Having many friends on Facebook who are as politically motivated as I am means that any old click-bait would be clicked. I've read about not just politics, but science, entertainment, I've looked at maps, read up on history and generally probably improved my general knowledge without really being aware - until I sit down with Tony and dazzle him with dull, uninteresting and random facts.

On the rare occasions we'll be able to sit down and chew the fat in the future, I hope to Jebus he has something to mumble about otherwise we'll be like those couples you used to see in local pubs; you know the ones, who sit nursing their pints with their wives with their gin and tonics and don't say a word to each other outside of 'do want another drink'? I mean, they might go home, rip each others' clothes off and have filthy dirty sex all over the rug; but if they do then it would be a transformation worth witnessing because you just know they'll go home and continue not talking to each other and besides, I don't think neither Tony nor I would fancy filthy dirty sex on his rug; the cat would get in the way and I'm sure his wife wouldn't be too keen, especially if we left a mess...

Don't get me wrong, I'm not particularly pleased with procrastinating especially when I've felt motivated to do things, only to discover I had to do something else. I've made arrangements several times in the last few weeks to meet up with an old chum, every time I set a date that's good for him something crops up - the first time is was a bad cold, then something else and most recently a funeral I'd completely forgotten about. I just hope my organisational skills resurface before I start work.

Probably my biggest fear about starting the new job is caffeine withdrawal. It is midday, I have been up since 8.15, I am on my 6th cup of strong coffee; this is below my usual average, I usually drink a cup every half hour in the morning - at least - and can have as many as 12 by the time the sun goes over the yard arm. I average 15 cups a day - that's pretty much two jars a week - it has literally been my only vice since we've had no money, so I expect headaches and fatigue for a while as I wean myself off it to a healthy level.

I'm sure I'm just regurgitating shit I've talked about before, so I'll stop, but not before I give you this...

If you can grow a stupidly Rip Van Winkle beard it doesn't mean you have to become a hipster; you can always have a shave, or a trim, or even a 21st Century George Michael look. Consider it. The same could be said for those pointless whispy moustaches that adolescents and non-hairy people think look cool. You look like you have a decaying caterpillar on your already pursed face - stop it now.

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