I sit down behind my computer at 10.00 am Saturday morning. With the best intentions, really. I need to produce pages. Here is a report on how my other self tries to procrastinate just that. (true story)
For those not knowing, here is what procrastinate means:
to put off doing something that should be done straight away, especially habitually or to an unspecified time
I sit down. Startup Final Draft and am ready to type down some words.
“Maybe we should listen to Charles Paris first?”
“No we don’t, you already listened to that yesterday”
“I know, that was in my lunch break at work. I need to hear it again, because I need to record it before it disappears from the BBC website”
“Well you can do that some other time, write!”
“I think it’s best to do it now, so I won’t forget it. It’s only half an hour. And extra bonus – Charles might inspire me to write”.
My intelligent side loses, and I listen to Charles Paris for 30 minutes and record it. Now that that is done, clearly I am ready to write?
I do manage to write a couple of lines, or rather I manage to repair a scene that was bad into something that hopefully is less crappy. I like to think that I have understood some of the comments I got, and I won’t write long dialogues without the people in it doing things anymore. So I write a bit more …
and can hear my washing machine is finished with its program. Better hang it up to dry first. I find my iPod, plug it in my ears and hang up my wash while enjoying this song a couple of times. I make some Yorkshire tea, the milky way, take in some biscuits and sit down again. I change to iTunes, compile a Playlist that will make me write like crazy and press play. Bring it on!
Let me just check my email one more time before I start. I send a quick mail to my film making partner about the title of our film. I am ready now. Really.
I write a couple of lines. I can see the sun peeking through my windows, but I am strong, I stay in, right here behind my computer. When does that film start tonight?
I look it up, 17.45. Cool. Lots of time left to write.
I need some sweets. Do I have any sweets somewhere? I check the kitchen, knowing that I don’t. Sit down again. Maybe I should just pop out to the cornershop and get some? Sugar, it’s good, it will make me write I am sure.
I try not to walk too fast, as I am now walking in the sunshine and the corner shop is only 100 meters from where I live. I enjoy the fresh air immensely, it is cold but the weather in London has been beautiful the last couple of days.
I step into the shop. Pick some sweets, and a Lion Bar just in case, and also pick up a Guardian, which, I promise myself, I am not going to read when I come home. Not right away anyway.
I also promise myself that I am not going to build the paper model of the Empire State Building that is included with today’s edition. A quick peek in the Guide and the Magasin then.
I see an interview with Diana Rigg, which reminds me that I want to see All About My Mother before it is gone. And I get a smile on my face because I already bought a ticket for Kevin for his new play in February. I quickly scan the Soulmates ads in the Guide knowing that I won’t ever respond to any of them because I am too shy and self conscious to do so, but I do think that the Happy, sorted, h’some guy who loves Indie, music, literature and comedy sounds interesting enough for me to respond to, if I wasn’t me.
I laugh about “The most amazing fabulous groover you’ll ever want to meet” ad, from someone who “will travel anywhere” to meet just me. I like people who groove me out, but I don’t think he is that person. And believe it or not, while Bob Dylan sings “Don’t think twice it’s alright” I go back to writing. I write a couple of lines.
I think “fuck it” and order a ticket to All about my mother, shut down my computer, put on my coat and walk into the sunshine (because London is so beautiful at the moment) on my way to the cinema.
So that went pretty well didn’t it.
Don’t look at me like that. I know, I shouldn’t monkey about like that, but sometimes I am weak.