Showing posts with label disorganization. Show all posts
Showing posts with label disorganization. Show all posts

Thursday, May 29, 2008

Procrastination, Laziness, and Other Excuses

What happens when we look around our home at a mountain of dirty clothes, outdated Writer's Digest and Poets & Writers magazines that we should've tossed out years ago, or the aquarium that needs cleaning? Are we immediately saddened, or do we say to ourselves that, yes, we will sort the clothes and head off to the laundromat just as soon as we change the water in aquarium, and stack-and-tie the old magazines for the garbage?

I don't think most of us set out to procrastinate, lounge around in bed with the remote control cycling through a week's worth of Netflix movies, with popcorn or Doritos Nacho crumbs accumulating on a dirty t-shirt. It should be more difficult to procrastinate, but it's not. Many people fall into a vicious pattern of procrastination, denying that they are not doing what they're supposed to do, and then blaming everyone within earshot as to why they've not mowed the lawn, washed the clothes, completed the Great American Novel, completed the second or third screenplay draft that will set the movie industry on its ear.

Perhaps there should be a penalty each time we procrastinate. I'm not advocating electroshock therapy or anything extreme, but similar to the previous entry, maybe God would only allow us a set number of monthly excuses before we must take action. We were created with free will, so I don't know how well that idea might play with the folks in communist countries who've always been told what to think and do. What if we could only use each excuse three times, afterward we'd be unable to use it, or we'd forget it altogether?

Does this sound like something out of Science Fiction? A novel by Octavia Butler or Samuel Delaney? It might owe itself to the fact that I've recently been brainstorming and writing a new post-apocalyptic screenplay with two Tunisian brothers that have fast become friends and surrogate brothers. They are very talented, inspiring, and dedicated to the success of the project.

When we meet for brainstorming and writing sessions, I feel empowered, different from when I'm in a Morningside workshop. The surge of energy comes from collaboration that I don't experience when writing or editing alone. What I feel is the possibility of the unknown when Kays or Thameur send pages upon pages of research for our project. They keep me on target with their questions, goals, and artistic vision.

We're in the early stages of forming a collaborative stage and film production company to write, direct, and produce shorts, features, and plays. We're tossing around a few names for the production company (check back here in a few weeks for more developments).

I believe that everything and everyone happens in our lives for a reason. If not for a profile on IndieGoGo, we'd have never met. I've had my moments of procrastination, distraction, and downright laziness, but I've been making progress and overcoming these bad habits (personality glitches) due in part to my Morningside moderator responsibilities and the work we've set out to accomplish in the next few months.

Monday, May 05, 2008

Recovering Packrat


It seems that I woke up one day and was knee-deep in boxes, colored folders stacked on top of the file cabinet, and bags of stuff that I don't remember hoarding away. I've repeatedly promised myself that I'd eat my Wheaties, take my Mega Men multi-vitamins, and ruthlessly clean my home office, bedroom, and living room, and I'm just getting around to sorting through the accumulated mess two years later.

I wasn't a packrat (hoarder as it's also known) as a child. I wasn't allowed to be because my mother ran a tight ship. Why then as an adult has my living space fallen into disarray?

Next to the wall is an old three-tier TV cart that I use as a table that's overrun with all sorts of madness (tropical fish food, aquarium supplies, and binders) that needs major dusting. I hope there's nothing alive on the lower self! My tropical fish are outgrowing the tank, but until I clean this mess, there'll be no room for a larger aquarium.

Why did I buy this handcrafted wooden Mexican bench from an online discount site? Was I planning a picnic on my third floor fire escape and forgot to invite guests at the last minute? It's been a storage space for a 20" Dell monitor and duffle bags filled with Xeroxed handouts from my days tutoring ESL and GED in Spanish Harlem.

I'm at the point now that I don't want to be in here, preferring instead to travel to coffee shops or lounges to write longhand or on the laptop. I dare not work through the list of literary hot spots recently featured on Writer's Digest online as an excuse before cleaning up my pigsty. I also think I was embarrassed for recent tearful and apologetic hoarders on Oprah. I pointed, jaw lowered, "Oh my gosh, look at her mess!" And then I turned around and looked at my mess and closed my mouth and sat in solidarity as I stared at junk that filled one of those public storage rooms.

I didn't set out to become a hoarder, and heaven knows if I knew how exhausting sorting through these bags, boxes, and folders would be, I'd have shredded utility bills as soon as I paid them, rather than file them for months on end.

If there any other hoarders out there, I feel your pain, but know that holding onto clothes you can't wear, media or writing magazines, won't do anything for you. Close your eyes and clench your teeth if purging the junk is painful, but just do it.

Back to the trenches. Wish me luck, or better still, come over and help me!