Blogging to procrastinate

I'm being a complete slacker with respect to my sketching. Each day I'm brimming with optimism from the moment I get up to the moment I go to bed, thinking about how I can't wait to sketch, and saying positive affirmations to get myself in the mood, and not thinking about how I currently suck and that it takes at least 5 hours of practice to achieve mastery of a skill and that I still have 3-5 hours to go. So there's no shortage of positivity. The only thing there's a shortage of is actual sketching. I haven't touched a pencil in ~5 days.

Enjoying being terrible at something is a skill I would love to have. But even the great Mario, who can will himself to enjoy red bean paste snacks, is very hit or miss in this respect. He'll be fine with sucking at one thing, as long as he's already addicted to it and doesn't have to do it in front of other people, but then inexplicably refuse to even take a second strike on another.

Over the years I've created this self-image that I can learn to be awesome at anything in 5 minutes, or on the first try, whichever is faster. This self-image, while completely inaccurate, sometimes performs a magic placebo effect and everything clicks. But this self-image has its limits. Sketching, dancing, at one point singing, and a couple of other things seem to be in its Achilles heel, or off its grid, or in its blind spot. I don't know how it works, it's a very hand wavy science.

So the lesson is that I'm good at rationalizations and I'm using it against my sketching. Go. Sketch. Now!

Your easy life

So National Novel Writing Month is steadily chugging along. I've been keeping to a pace of ~1666 words a day in an unprecedented feat of anti-procrastination. Yes, I feel very ashamed. No, you can't leave judgmental comments, I'm under enough stress as it is. For those of you who haven't already read it in Scientific American, it has recently been discovered that the pain of childbirth is like popping zit when compared to creating a novel. So it's been hard to force myself to procrastinate, as much as I would love to.

Because judging anyone is heavy on the psyche, and because I claim to care about others' well-being, I will help you not to judge me. I will justify my betrayal of the technique so fundamental to success in school, college, the workplace, testing of oddly shaped lumps in the breast or under the armpit...well maybe not the last one. You see, I'm up against a formidable enemy - the cold vice-like hand of fear. There's a fundamental quality that separates this project from past ones. This quality is the voluntary nature of the undertaking. I am not doing this project for a grade. I am not doing because my fat boss is breathing down my neck. I am certainly not doing it because my personality demands a high degree of planned action. I'm doing it because I'm a badass, and doing it will scream my badassness (short for bodaciousness) to the world. I'm doing it because every word that brings me closer to meeting the deadline makes my enemies weep bitter tears of envy and defeat. And...I'm doing it because I care.

Now normally, the word "care," when used by a male and not preceded by a negation, raises suspicions of high estrogen levels, homosexuality, or homosexuality. It is common courtesy to follow up a statement involving the word "care" with "Did you mean scare?" as in:

"I love caring for old people."
"Did you say care or scare?"
"Umm...scare, of course. Ha! Caring for old people, that's for sissies. I scare for them. They pay well to scare their own. Extra, if you cause a heartattack."

The exception is when "care" is uttered by a badass, in which case the world takes it in stride without a second thought. This is that case.

Caring is the procrastinator's nightmare. For those of you amateurs who think procrastinating is easy, try investing some personal interest and you'll quickly find yourself slipping. Caring about a project makes procrastinating feel like you're holding in number one: for a short while it's bearable, and then you get to thinking that if you don't go now, you may never go again. Or, for those of you with tubes taking care of your urine I/O, it's like not sleeping for more than forty eight consecutive hours: you experience an acute lack of will-power. You brain says to you: "Come on, just go to sleep for a little while, and try this experiment tomorrow. Really, there's all the time in the world to try this another time. Listen to me! I'm so convincing!" And you give in, unless you're Jesus Christ or a donkey.

That is my situation. Daily, I dip below the threshold of will-power necessary for fueling procrastination, and I give in and write another 1666 words. Once I do, I feel guilty. It's a hellish existence. Prometheus had it easy.