As I begin this post, I currently have 0 blog entries completed. Zero. I have not even completed a fraction of the posts I'm to complete by midterm, instead my blog is home to a methodically constructed layout, complete with over-thought title and artsy notebook backdrop to perhaps suggest "I don't really care, writing is more of a hobby..more a passion than a grade".
The first assumption would be that I'm lazy. That would be a safe choice. I am pretty lazy; very lazy, even. Well versed in procrastination, the last minute and I are well acquainted. It seems most all of my day after coming home from football is spent doing absolutely nothing. There's nothing on TV, there's nothing in the fridge, there's nothing in my text inbox... yet I'm perfectly content basking in this mediocrity for the majority of my day. Maybe it's more appropriate to say, all of my day, because it's not usually until the most inane hour of night that I actually open up my backpack and let the obligation and responsibility spill out.
The second assumption would be that I'm stupid. The odds on that one probably aren't too bad either. Anyone who has watched me tend to my day-to-days know that I am as prone as any to looking like a dumbass at times. Today I fell down the stairs when I woke up because my dress socks were too slippery. Maybe I'm just not intelligent enough to do finish my work. (post-publication note: the error in the last sentence was pointed out to me but I felt retaining it was appropriate in context)
Nope. Clearly only a brilliant mind like me could find a way to attribute a total lack of productivity to a set of unrealistic standards I set for myself, almost narcissistic-level self-involvement, caring too much. I should point out to those who aren't sure, by the time I finish writing this my tongue should have punched a gaping hole in my cheek... but they say every joke has a hidden truth.
Saved in my drafts folder as of now are 4 different blog entries of which I've yet to complete. Not a few sentences here and there, some cutesy ideas I've yet to follow through on, but largely full-fledged essays in which I've invested ridiculous amounts of time. Why have I yet to publish them? Because my delicate ego is so wrapped in my own writing that I can't bring myself to post anything for fear of not being clever, witty or perceptive enough. Clearly this is not a cause that warrants sympathy, but I think acknowledgement is the first step in healing. Also, having typed all of this, I can now point to this self-deprecating laden entry as justification for whatever entries I don't feel support the weight of my fragile, heavy, psyche.
Also, I guess I'm sort of lazy.
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