Friday, February 3, 2012

In Regards to Myself

There's a point when the paper stacks you have piled up against the wall get so thick that they compress back into the trees from whence they came.

I'm sure at least a thousand times a semester somebody reminds me of how much of a kindness it is to the self to stay on top of things, and every semester, my brain reboots and the stacks continue to grow.

It was when I sacrificed an entire class to answer the summons of my phone that it occurred to me that NOT procrastinating was never going to occur to me. I told myself that the best work I did was work under intense pressure, but I curtly replied to myself that in order for this to be true, there would have to actually BE work.

I did not like that I had said this to me, and we didn't speak for the rest of the day.

I cannot find my walls, or my floors, or that article that was supposed to be due yesterday. I no longer see papers and articles as things to be read; I see them as informational decorations that can be stored on shelves as eye candy for the intellectual brain. I blame my librarian instinct to categorize on the amount of paper hoarding I do, because blaming myself would only start another one of those damn arguments with me again.

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