The one where I think I don't have time but really I do
Oh God, I'm so crap at this. Blogging regularly, I mean. Always the same story, as soon as I get busy I stop doing this 'cos I just haven't got time.
This, of course, is bollocks.
I have plenty of time, what I don't have is the ability to stop procrastinating. I can only do one thing at a time - actually, sometimes I can only do one thing a day. I have a meeting this afternoon, for example. I have to do a bit of preparation for it, maybe an hour. The meeting will last perhaps two hours. So that's three hours work on that, leaving me another five or so to do the other stuff which I so need to do as it's getting urgent now. Like writing a complicated and expensive proposal for a bunch of nuns in North London (don't ask).
But all I can see is the entry in my filofax "15-30 Contract: walk through". Those three words* are big enough to cast a shadow over the whole rest of the day. I can't do anything else. I'm trying, dammit. But instead I'm on here, writing this. And reading other people's [punctuation]. And deleting filthy pornographic spam, usually about "faar*m girr1s" and their animals in, presumably, compromising positions. Who would be stupid enough to follow a link with that in? And getting cross with the nanny state again - though there's enough there for a whole library of posts. Apparently we're banning fireworks unless you're a professional now. Where's the fun in that? Getting drunk and aiming several hundred rockets from your hand over the back of suburban gardens is a student rite of passage that'll surely be missed. Harmless fun, with extra kudos if you can set four-doors-down's greenhouse alight. Happy days, never to be had by the next generation because we're fixated with trivial issues like property damage and horrific burn injuries. Duh.
Oh, and by the way, this is my hundredth post. Go, me.
*all right, three words and two numbers. What? Four numbers, then. And a hyphen. And a colon. Whatever. Stop splitting hairs.
This, of course, is bollocks.
I have plenty of time, what I don't have is the ability to stop procrastinating. I can only do one thing at a time - actually, sometimes I can only do one thing a day. I have a meeting this afternoon, for example. I have to do a bit of preparation for it, maybe an hour. The meeting will last perhaps two hours. So that's three hours work on that, leaving me another five or so to do the other stuff which I so need to do as it's getting urgent now. Like writing a complicated and expensive proposal for a bunch of nuns in North London (don't ask).
But all I can see is the entry in my filofax "15-30 Contract: walk through". Those three words* are big enough to cast a shadow over the whole rest of the day. I can't do anything else. I'm trying, dammit. But instead I'm on here, writing this. And reading other people's [punctuation]. And deleting filthy pornographic spam, usually about "faar*m girr1s" and their animals in, presumably, compromising positions. Who would be stupid enough to follow a link with that in? And getting cross with the nanny state again - though there's enough there for a whole library of posts. Apparently we're banning fireworks unless you're a professional now. Where's the fun in that? Getting drunk and aiming several hundred rockets from your hand over the back of suburban gardens is a student rite of passage that'll surely be missed. Harmless fun, with extra kudos if you can set four-doors-down's greenhouse alight. Happy days, never to be had by the next generation because we're fixated with trivial issues like property damage and horrific burn injuries. Duh.
Oh, and by the way, this is my hundredth post. Go, me.
*all right, three words and two numbers. What? Four numbers, then. And a hyphen. And a colon. Whatever. Stop splitting hairs.
posted by crisiswhatcrisis at
10:16 am
5 Comments:
Congratulations on your century - what better way than to celebrate than making spud rockets to see how fast your baked potato can fly through the air in a beautiful arc dispersing into a million little fluffy white snow drops of potato - almost poetic isn't it? These youngsters don't know what they're missing out on :) Happy Birthday or whatever it is we're supposed to say.
By
Jools, at 6:17 pm
100 posts - you've made it!
And leave our fireworks alone nasty eleven killjoy politicans who have signed an early day motion to ban them. Boo, hiss.
By
J.J, at 10:22 am
Happy hundreth or whatever.
I love fireworks, I love them on bonfire night or after a wedding or some other notable occasion. What I don't like is the fact we have fireworks every night at present in our village, and have done for the last 3 weeks, usually after the pub shuts!
By
Unknown, at 11:35 pm
oh how f*ing typical
I finally giving up checking in daily and then I miss your 100th post
hope the meeting went well - but I'm so curious about the North London nuns. . .
By
I, Like The View, at 10:42 am
. . .that I forgot to say congratulations
congratulations
(word ver: something to do with hall-o-ween-v-guy-fawkes,how timely and how topical)
By
I, Like The View, at 10:44 am
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