Thursday, October 13, 2011
ROUTINE, ROUTINE, ROUTINE, ROUTINE, ROUTINE, ROUTINE, ROUTINE
I can't do that. I need "clean time" surrounded by an ocean of nothing to do. I need six hours to write two because the two hours of work have to be preceded by and followed by two hours with no obligations. I excoriate myself for this insane need for leisure as a prerequisite for doing any work, but it has been my mode for many years, including the years I pursued the art of photography. A bad habit I can cure with an act of will, like quitting smoking or losing weight or with hypnotism or psychotherapy or maybe drugs... I dunno, this quirk is still with me into my sixth decade and has prevented me from writing ten times more novels than I have actually produced. Maybe those were crap books that didn't need to be written. Rationalize, Rationalize, Rationalize...
My lazy friends tell me I am the most productive person they know. My productive friends have not seen fit to comment. I consider myself lazy, and feel guilty, but I feel guilty about a lot of things--forgetting to take my vitamins or going to bed without flossing or not giving my dog a long enough walk. I live in a fog of guilt. My Executive Director friend Karen says that the person who makes the best employee is the most guilty person, and she has a graduate degree in management. What about being self employed, Karen?