Tag Archives: diaries

The Inconclusive Dissection: Mind Half-Full or Half-Empty?

If we go on the premise that procrastinators think too much, then perhaps it’s reasonable to assume that my mind is really full. Well, better than empty, I guess? I guess! And, yes, I guess it could be a possible explanation as to why nothing tangible and concrete is coming out of my head. That’s because everything is so crammed inside, I guess!

Yes, my ideas are packed to the point of having no room to breathe or move, so they just stay within my mind and discuss among themselves. That is where all my stories are, I promise! And when they spend so long there, telling and retelling many variations over, they are already exhausted and left wanting in energy to escape. Furthermore, it feels as though the story has been told, we know the twists and turns, and feel as though the world should look inside to find out what we’ve done, instead of us always having to come out and show what we do. Understand? Understand!

I understand that I am probably deluding myself, but these thoughts are still true. If I think hard enough, I can save myself the step of publication. Save paper? But how do I convince people to take the plunge, to take that leap of faith, and just look inside my mind? To trust me? Trust me!

These were my thoughts during a dinner date in a restaurant with candles. Sitting across from me was an articulate, more good-looking that I deserve, attractive doctor, with experience. I sensed that that my luck may be changing and that it won’t be long before my mind starts opening up.

After a few sips of wine, and samplings of appetizer, I started getting a tingly sensation emanating from the inner portion of both stockingless legs underneath the table. I guess I just had a feeling when choosing what not to wear for the night. Just as he was proposing a toast to ‘I don’t know what’, I clanged his glass while debating within myself whether or not my partner is a surgeon or not. Admittedly, my relationship with him has not gotten deep enough yet for me to acquire this knowledge.

But, oh my, what if he were a surgeon? A surgeon! My imagination went wild in considering the possibilities. And I downed my glass of wine with sumptuous enthusiasm and determination. Would he have the tools and the requisite skills to dissect me? I couldn’t giggle outwardly at such a delicious thought so, instead, I crossed my legs so my skirt wouldn’t be as much of an intrusive censor, and I flexed and extended my ankle continuously, as if to communicate that my heart was jumping up and down with joy? Unequivocal joy!

If there was any way that he could do a professional dissection of me, but preferably with a particular emphasis on the artistic, then finally, at long last, he could really, literally, open up my mind and the world can see the unadulterated stories I have completed!  They’ll know I haven’t been lying all this time. They’ll trust me that I’ve been hard at work!

I suddenly felt incredibly sexy at that moment, more sexy that I’ve felt in my entire life. I didn’t know how much was left of my legs under the table at that point. With all the gyrations going on, I wouldn’t be surprised if I had exercised away all the skin and left them see-through. Oh, poor doctor, I could see it in his eyes, and his focus on his steak, that he had no clue what was going on under there!

I watched intently how he cut up the steak, savoring enough time to allow the juices to bubble over, so he could observe the satisfaction before making it disappear within his mouth, thereby intensifying the the senses at least twofold. That’s a good sign. Maybe he is a surgeon? A surgeon! The thought of him opening me up with such care and focus, like he did that steak, made me lose a button somewhere in my skirt.

I was so ready, I was so much in the mood for desire and intimacy. So, I quickly apologized to him for having to leave early and cut short our dinner together. I declined his offer for a ride, left him alone to finish the rest of his steak (as a surgeon should definitely not leave an operation half completed), and ran all the way home in such a mad rush that there was barely a trace of clothing on me when I arrived.

I have to work harder now. Think harder, deeper, even more intensely than ever before. Patience, my thoughts, patience, as I will bring more characters into an already tight space. But, patience, because now I know that you will soon all get to see the light of day. We must think together on this and get as much inside as possible before the surgeon arrives? Promise me that when that time comes for me to have an operation, you kids will not be hiding somewhere inside. All this work and to have him open me up to find nothing? Nothing!

-Dawn

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Can I Get Another Set of Eyes to Look at This?

Hello. I am Pierce. I’ve been away. Doing what? Living out and piloting another idea for this procrastinator diary post. That’s my modus operandi. Have an idea. Go away. Leave. Disappear. Not write. Not write. Again, not write. Be left in peace with my procrastination. So, I can play out my ideas. Put it in action. Do some experiments. Come back. And, write.

Here is what I found during my time away. That, ironically, my isolated time spent alone has not been very productive. There was no urgency. There were no other set of eyes. There were no threats of evaluation, feedback, or witnesses to give evidence that I was living. Nobody noticed. Honey, telling people what I did during the day does not have the same effect as showing them directly what I do as they watch me.

This result and realization surprised me. I didn’t know. Look at me. I’m ashamed. I’m not as tough, insensitive, nor oblivious as I thought I was. Look at me. I’m writing. I’m working. Look at me. I need you. It’s so hard for me to say, but it is. God, I need people.

Is it so that I am not as intrinsically motivated as I thought? Funny. During this time away, I got more accomplished in two hours in the evening with all kinds of people buzzing around in the home and not much done during 8 hours of silence during the day. Is it the people I need or the sense that time is running out in the day?

Maybe I do need the pressure. Both with time and with people. So, for my next hiatus, can I test this out by throwing myself into an audience at every opportunity? Have an open house accompany me wherever I go?
However, if I end up getting the eventual stage fright, and don’t go through with this, procrastinators of course always have a backup plan to avoid being thrown into the social fire.

I’m already hard at work conjuring up which imaginary eyes to permanently engrave into my mind, so that daggers threaten to rain upon me at my every move. And just in case my imagination fails me, I’ve been drawing numerous eyes so intense that they need not other bodily features to disclose the identities they have provided for eternal history. These eyes ranging from all time will be placed all over my wall in case I try to waste my life again. On one upper corner example, from Zeus to Sisyphus to Medea to Kafka to Plath to Thurber. With these eyes giving me attention, how dare I not take risks to go deeper!

-Pierce

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Reasons Behind Avoiding Foreplay

Hello. This is Pierce. After reading Mr Manly’s post and advice for relationships, it got me thinking. It got me asking. It got me fretting about how I haven’t been involved in an intimate relationship for an uncountable number of days. It’s no fault of the other party, that’s for sure. I can’t expect them to patiently wait until perhaps death for me to still not have made a decision.

That post got me thinking, especially after reading how so many readers were open and honest about their thoughts. So I will be as well. Because I want you to understand from my perspective, and perhaps some men out there also share these views. Women? I love you, I really do, but there’s a reason why I come across as I do, with all that hesitancy and reluctance.

The last many times, I have avoided having sex. This was due to remembrance of an anxiety-filled experience. I just couldn’t do it. Couldn’t make the commitment. Just stood there. And then the moment passed and was no more.

You see, way back when, when procrastination only encompassed most of my life, I actually played the part, all the way to the point of turning off the lights and getting under the covers. You know, the part when the teenagers watching television make sounds of disappointment as the screen goes dark leaving them only to wonder and imagine the rest of the love scene. Little did they know, when the lights went off, I pretty well shut if off as well.

My partner wanted more foreplay, extensive foreplay. Lots of women like that, right? Some even prefer it more than the direct act itself, and a few are even okay with just doing the foreplay. I refused. It may seem cold, heartless, uncreative, and selfish, but I hope women around the world will hear me out and understand my reasons. I love foreplay, but just couldn’t and, to this day, can’t. I love foreplay so much that, in fact, the intensity is unbearably enough to cause the ultimate release before part two. Am I weak? No stamina?

I’m afraid of foreplay because of premature you know. But I didn’t tell women. And it didn’t come across well physically and emotionally when the lights were turned off. This kind of worry has resulted in me totally putting off anything that even comes close to resembling intimate relations. I know I avoided eye contact on the train many times over this morning.

But I do wonder, and would like to put this question out for consideration and learning. May there be some women out there who feel flattered when small foreplay is enough to make me finish? Are there women out there who feel greater satisfaction with men who prefer to stop after foreplay and not do the sequel?
Instead of being a sign of weakness, I think it shows great potency to be able to achieve the ultimate sensual pleasure while both are fully clothed.

Anyways, now you can understand how all these thoughts have precluded me from being able to consider the sex as we know and love it. Again, I don’t mean any harm or hurt to women; it is just fear on my part. I hope you understand.

I guess the state I’m in now I wouldn’t have much problem converting to a monk, except for my thoughts. Monks, procrastination, sex – all would be okay, except for my thoughts.

(Another thought for another day: is procrastination a form of overextended foreplay that exhausts oneself into inability to perform the more important next act?)

-Pierce

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The Effects of ’24’ on Procrastination

“The following takes place between 10 and 11 AM.”

Hi, I’m Dawn, and I went dark recently. Sorry for taking the expression from the popular series “24.” But, it’s relevant because it’s a major reason for my disappearance lately. At least that’s my story, and I’m going to stick with it and carry it out as far as it can go.

By the way, can’t help but notice how quiet it has been here lately. With the blog name being ‘Procrastination Post’, are we spending more time in the ‘procrastination’ phase rather than the ‘post’ phase? I’m as guilty as anyone. While Sheri mentioned in her post about a lightning bolt, I don’t have as good a reason for my invisibility. But I will say that I took some time away in an honest, though perhaps unproductive, effort to deal with my procrastination. How? I watched DVDs!

I know, I know, television watching perhaps does more to aggravate and exacerbate procrastination than anything else, but it wasn’t any old plain kill time thing I was watching. I was watching 24! And I was watching Jack Bauer – perhaps the one person who is as far away as procrastination as you could get. That’s right! I’ve been away these days, busy watching 24 to try to instill a sense of urgency in my life via watching other characters operating under intense circumstances where every minute is life and death.

Can there be anyone tougher than Jack Bauer? Not only does he survive repeated torture, and various extreme methods of interrogation, he has to immediately recover with no down time, put it aside, and focus on the moment for the very next crucial task. There is little time to mourn failure, unsuccessful missions, deaths, because something of higher priority awaits. And in situations where everything seems important, he needs to prioritize and constantly sacrifice things that will cause pain.

I just finished watching a scene where Jack Bauer had to make one of those impossible decisions to choose between killing his friend (a member of his own team) or letting his friend fulfill personal revenge against a terrorist who is needed alive by the US government. Jack Bauer killed his friend. Would a procrastinator be able to choose in such a scenario? Would a procrastinator be able to act in a scenario 1000 times less intense?

Am I just plain silly and stupid to be even referencing a work of fiction, a character who is not real, to spur motivation? Will 24 make me write more, write better, write consistently? Will it help me write more urgently to save or change lives? Or am I exhausted just watching the show, feeling as if by watching I also participated in urgent action and overcame procrastination? Then the empty feeling comes after when realizing all I did was watch, and acted upon nothing. Do most of us sit and contemplate on the backs of a few whose actions determine the course of a country? I don’t think I have done anything for my country except think about it.

Then again, if we tried to live our normal lives like 24, would we die of stress or have other health complications? But maybe it’s worth it to feel so alive, so significant, and immersed in activities of impact? Or can I request to have 1 hour out of every 24 to be that intense? I guess what I’m looking for is some guarantee on time, some extreme risks with a safety net, but once I place a contingency on the moment, then I may as well be procrastinating again.

I’ll have to disappear again, and try to engage in 24 a little bit more effectively. I’ll let you know how it turns out. Actually, if successful, I won’t have to let anyone know…as significant change will be evident in itself without digging for minute details.

-Dawn

 

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The Fountain of Alternative Aging

Someone on a hot day drinks from a water fountain and then goes back to the outdoor activities. During the next break, comes back to the fountain only to find ‘out of order’ signs pasted to the fountain.

If you were this person, what are your feelings? No feelings? Just an inconvenience and head to the next available fountain? Do you think about the cause? Oh, it must be a mechanical issue, or something wrong with the pump?

A particular someone did not consider any of the above possibilities. Instead, he was sure that the authorities shut off the water too late to prevent him from consuming dangerous contaminated water from his earlier drink. But he kept these thoughts to himself. Nothing happened. He did not get physically sick.

However, his friends and family say that he certainly wasn’t the same after this. He didn’t talk as much, and almost lived with kind of an expectation, and seemed to be constantly looking for something. He rarely did anything without reading about it first, did not go to, or use, anything without signs, and usually came home looking dehydrated.

-Pierce

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The ‘Side-Effects’ of Road-Rage (Experimental Musings for Psychology)

Hello. It’s Pierce again. Obviously, it’s working. After never writing in public my entire life, I was able to panic my way through my introduction at the last post, and now have returned after being the subject of various physical experiments. I did sign a waiver and consent form, and would like to send out an invitation for more participants who are willing to vent their frustrations over me. Father?

In this diary entry, I want to react to comments made by Rick concerning the road-rage post. You can click here for the original article.

Here’s a part of what Rick said in his observations about who he thinks the actual road-rage perpetrator is:

“I don’t see how you had road rage? The other guy obviously had a bit or rage but seems like you kept to yourself – unless you were very angry inside and did not make that clear in your post. Or maybe you meant that suffering from road rage for the first time was suffering from some other douche bags rage?”

I am worried. I think Rick’s assessment of the situation is dead on. Do you ever have that feeling of discomfort when you see yourself exactly in somebody else’s personal pronouns? Though the authors and readers were immersed in their discussions without any knowledge of my identity, they may as well be talking about me.

I am that person. That person who keeps entirely to himself while the the cars, the people, the world, life, rages on. Do you think this reluctance to act, express, or even release anger every once in awhile, is more likely in procrastinators? The indecision means the moment to emotionally vent may have passed us by? And let’s take a bit of a leap here. From this, can we hypothesize that because procrastinators tend to hold off on responding, and maybe hold things inside a little bit more or longer, then the rage is often boiling and expressed inwards rather than outwards? In this case, may we be more likely to pop a blood vessel or have a greater incidence of high blood pressure? Can someone point to any experiments that have been done on some of these factors?

As Rick was musing about the possible meanings in his comments, I can tell him that even in their specific case where I was not a direct participant, I was definitely angry inside. Just by reading, I dug so deep within I almost performed a self-burial. And yes, being frozen and unable to act does mean only being able to experience these possibilities through the drama of others. Does this mean that procrastinators would have more difficulty telling personal experience stories because they have experienced less of life’s moments directly than others?

Me, personally, I’ve never had road-rage before. No, never. Not in the moment, not out there, not where you can collect any evidence of it. However, I have practiced it, studied it, simulated it, rewinded it, paused it, many, many, many times over with my car doors shut as tightly as the security system that protects my mind.

-Pierce

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Headshakes instead of Handshakes (A ‘Physical’ Introduction to Pierce)

Sorry. Been here since the start, but just didn’t have the gumption to say anything. That’s the problem. While other procrastinators, viewers, readers, friends, strangers, seem to be having fun removing their inhibitions in this blog, I, I, can’t even arrive at the beginning of my stuttering. If it makes any sense, I am falling behind the procrastinators, so what category is that? There is just no vocabulary for how one can be so invisibly present for all these weeks.

Anyways, I’ve finally come to accept my punishment. I am Pierce, lost in my paragraphs I’ve never formed,  and I would like you to hurt me. As I’ve been pretty much void of outward emotion all my life, as I stand here, I would like you to just take out all your rage you have of unfulfilled dreams against this punching bag I volunteer as myself.

Since I have never been able to express my mental hopes into a communicable form, I wish that some physical stimulation would deliver the urgency in most blunt form. I beg that you passionately beat it out of me. Although sounding cruel, it is with hope that I ask you to try this corporal method to help me rescue whatever ideas are currently decaying within me because I cannot give them breath. Up to now, I speak as though ideas do not exist. I promise, promise, they are there, and will manifest with the appropriate threats.

So, can you do that for me? Threaten me! Just physically overwhelm me! I need to be put in a ‘fight’ or ‘flight’ state where my biology takes over and spurs me into the extreme urgency of action. I’m flat, flat, flat, flatlining constantly in between ‘fight’ and ‘flight.’ Always, in between. Maybe, hopefully, with my immediate health at risk, with pain ready to commence, I will finally discover what is it approximately that I do…that I may actually under extreme conditions, do more than just stand there and think. And think. And think.

-Pierce

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