Why leave tomorrow what you can criticize today?

I think I thought I could escape. My boredom, my idleness, my sickness, my procrastination. If I didn’t write about my days spent at the GMC typing, at home reading, at Tyler’s house socializing, at the bureau killing time, I might not have to own up to it later. Funny, the residue of guilt. It does not fade with time, it does not respond to deliberate attempts of suppression.

Honestly, I was ill. Whether or not cold viruses exist in the Sahara or not, my nose, head, throat and lungs were full of sickness. My voice was out of commission for a day and a half, my sense of balance was actually worse than Larium-normal. For this, my inactivity was somewhat justified.

Somewhat.

Unfortunately, guiltily, this justification began to wear thin come Thursday. Now that it’s Monday, I have run out of reasons but not yet out of excuses.

I procrastinate!
I hate it!

I had a conversation with my coordinator yesterday and it was characteristically wonderful. His encouragement is unflagging, his giggles infectious, his expectations motivating… and daunting. “If you were a perfect volunteer, which you are, this is what you’d do…” Right. Perfect in that I poured through a thousand plus page Stephen King novel last week? Perfect in that I threw two dinner parties and attended another, none of which were with families or teachers or neighbors like I planned? Perfect in that I rationalize my GMC computer time by typing my plan d’action (program for the year) and planning my calendar with fancy software? What’s the use if I plan more than I do? Anticipate more than I accomplish.

I procrastinate!
I hate it!

I meant to unearth all my notes from stage, written when I was still motivated and bright-eyed with ideas and delusions of grandeur. So I could remind myself why I was here, what I had planned, when I had hoped to accomplish the myriad goals set in the heat of July and August. Meant to. As in didn’t.