I am an ADD addled procrastinator. Self diagnosed (the first part) because they didn’t throw that stuff around when I was a kid. However, I found my first two ‘report cards’ from preschool the other day, and they both mention what a difficult time I had paying attention.
Redemption. Of a sort. The problem is documented but it’s still a problem. Self directed activities are an ongoing challenge for me and yet, in a way, the only environment in which I can achieve.
I had to be an artist. Truly–I have always been convinced that I was not fit for most other avocations. But I still have to drag my ass to the studio most days.
Why? What for? And when does it end?
Never, me thinks. This die is cast. The best I can hope for is to either come up with strategies or to ride roughshod over myself. Usually I settle on a mix of the two.
And then there are days like this one. I slept ten plus hours but still woke up tired. I had a two hour nap this morning and then, after lunch, the storms rolled in. Kumo jumped in my lap (he loathes the thunder) and I thought perhaps another lie down was called for.
I am not one of those dog owners who sleeps with their pet and my dog respects this preference. However, Kumo knows that if there is a lightning storm I shall bend the rules. I turned on the fan and the two of us crawled in bed, me spooning the little white dog with the wildly beating heart.
Nothing tangible was accomplished but I reveled in the moment. This too—the in between—is living.