Tag Archives: procrastination

Monday Gratitude: This Here Ukulele

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She ain’t pretty. But she is cheap. And easy.

Settling on a gratitude came with difficultly tonight; I seem to exist in a state of muted rage lately. That makes it hard to count your blessings. I’m either working or avoiding work at all times, and the number 1 way I’ve been avoiding work lately is this ukulele. Why is that slowly picking out “Stairway to Heaven” 40 times in a row feels easier than accomplishing the tasks I need to do, I want to do, other people are depending up me to do?  Tasks I’m actually capable of successfully completely, unlike ever being able to play “Stairway” at tempo.

That’s just this week. Usually I don’t use it as a distraction, but more as a calmative. I had developed a bad habit of staring at the screen late at night, and the ukulele gives me something I can focus on in the dark (much like with touch typing, I realized the only way to learn to do it without looking was to make it impossible to look), allowing me to pull back from electricity and possibly sooth my psychotic circadian rhythms.

I’m grateful for the uke, and the ability to play music. I always, always wanted to play, but I hated the music I was supposed to learn for the piano, so I hated practicing, so I never got better. And my hands are too little and intractable for the guitar. And certain things I can only learn on my own, with my own hands. I pity the people who tried to teach young dragon about music.

5 Tomatoes Mandala

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And then those are olives on the outside, I guess? And some kind of columbine flowers. 

Per usual, my weekend consisted of me compiling long lists of imperative tasks and then not doing them while I messed around on the internet, hung out in other people’s houses, went swimming, and played Pokemon Go. Also spent most of Friday night sitting in a bean bag with Misses Kitty, playing the ukulele and singing.

I’m also reading the Owl’s book, which was just released last week, although I probably read 4 complete and 12 partial drafts of the manuscript before its publication. It wasn’t fresh enough in my mind to write a book review. Soon I hope to write that review, and then there may be a little news regarding where that review will be published, but I’m not supposed to talk about it just yet, and I don’t have all the details anyway.

This mandala is nice and cheerful and juicy, probably hailing from a time in my life where I didn’t neglect my plants for days at a time and instead took good care of them so they remained healthy and bore fruit. Not this year. This year I murdered two tomato plants and sorely abused a couple of peppers.

Should try and take another stab at that logo design. My first was rejected for being too cute. But I thought the original design was too ugly. So we’re shooting for something in between.

Someday Never Comes

This is me, like, every night this week.

This is me, like, every night this week.

In real life I do not sleep in the middle of the bed, because I’m married, but otherwise this is pretty accurate. You probably know that feeling. You promise yourself you’ll get to all the stuff you need to get to, the stuff you didn’t get to today because you were having some kind of crisis of faith, or you were distracted by emergencies or other stuff that seemed more pressing, or you got overwhelmed and paralyzed by the enormity of what you meant to do, or you just forgot. For whatever reason, it remains undone, but tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow you’ll get up, meditate, exercise, eat healthy, and focus on what’s really important to you.

And then tomorrow is today and you get up and have the same influences and the same distractions and the same excuses and before you know it bedtime has rolled around again and you’re lying in bed promising yourself, “Tomorrow, tomorrow.” But even if you swear to yourself that it’s absolutely, positively, definitely tomorrow, deep down you know it’s maybe tomorrow, because everything’s maybe and nothing assured. There you are, covering your face with your hands (maybe just metaphorically; it doesn’t have to be physically) trying to forgive yourself for your shortcomings and forget your failure, except you don’t really want to forget because how are you going to remember how important this is tomorrow if you can’t recall how disappointed you are today.

Maybe tomorrow. It’s a gift of hope but it’s also a threat.