Procrastination

Unfortunately for me and my career, when given any sort of responsibility, old Procrasty McPrasterson rears his ugly head. Heck, even the term isn't an original. The whole "McSomething" to make it sound funnier comes straight from Cuteoverload.com. Although some may argue that the roots come from my friend D, who I believe coined the term "Fatty Watty McButterpants," or the more pithy "Fatty McWatty." Both of which are the ideal descriptions of how I feel when my jeans have just come out of the dryer, 5 sizes smaller than when they went in.

So old Procrasty makes it nigh impossible for me to get anything done in an effective manner. Even after I've fought tooth and nail to get freelance assignments to make this New Zealand trip more than just an extended holiday, after I've ranted and raved to my bewildered husband about how I'm better than the money I make and editors just need to give me a chance and I can produce better stuff than the drivel we see in magazines these days because I AM A WRITER dammit! Although, on the other hand, one of the hallmarks of being a writer is to see how long one can stare at a blank page before sheer boredom (and running out of things to look up on the internet) forces you to start typing. Anything.

And while the good news is that I usually manage to get the darned article done on time, even that knowledge makes Procrasty leer nastily and say "See, it'll get done. So....why not just take a quick peek at Myspace to see if anyone has voted on your picture that was taken two years and 10 inches of hair ago? (They have, and I'm still at a friggin' 6.6 out of 10).

The sad part is, I only need to write 400 words today. For reference, this blog is already at 311. It's not a Shakespeare dissertation that I'm avoiding here, it's just the mere fact that it's "work." And now...I've run out of excuses, internet searches and no one has sent me any new emails. I think. I should go check.