It’s 8:57. I’m almost two hours overslept, but the saving grace is that at least I don’t have to be at work until eleven. It’s a bit dreary outside, and I suppose the tropical storm (hurricane? To be honest I’m still bad at keeping track of these things, even after almost ten years in Florida) doesn’t help matters much. Rain always makes me sleepy, and it’s unfortunate that there’s this thing called adulthood that prevents me from giving in to its call and being as lazy as possible.To be honest, I’m positively groggy. Perfectly worn out.
Yet I’m oddly motivated?
You see, I’ve gone through the trouble over the last few days to set myself up a bullet journal (long story short, lots of organizing, planning, and scheduling) for my writing. Between freelancing, novel writing, editing, reading, etc., there’s just so much to do and sometimes it’s just so easy to just… push it off… to a later date… forget about it… It feels so good to be in the blissful state of forgetfulness, you see.
Unless of course there’s something within my general vicinity yelling and possibly cursing at me to get off my ass and do what I need to do. Hence my bullet journal. It’s a lot less violent than it sounds (and involves less yelling and cursing, incidentally,) and the point is, I’m motivated. I have things to do, goals set and waiting desperately for me to accomplish them. I also won’t lie, a few friends and my partners know I’ve set such goals – pride demands I meet them. It’s the principle of the thing.
Despite the rain and the grogginess and how cozy and warm my bed is right now (you’ll be happy to hear I’m being a big girl and writing this from my desk, on my desktop, like an adult with responsibilities) I feel rather ready and willing to start off September on an upward journey, as opposed to what I usually do which is procrastinate until my face falls off.
Besides. I think my face is just fine where it is.