Tell me to do my work . . .

. . .or at least to go out and enjoy the beautiful day.

I cannot recall ever feeling this unproductive. (Well, maybe during that year that I was "reading" for my dissertation.) I have so much writing to do and I am so behind that I am in a state of miserable paralysis. I am actually excited about these projects and would normally want to work on them, but I am so burnt-out from the Year from Hell and especially the Brutal Soul-Killing Semester that I just want to lie about and eat bon-bons all day, everyday, for at least a month. Add to the burnout the break-up drama and the exhaustion from my battle with the Wives of Southerners Present Past and Future and. . . you get the picture.

I have even stopped working on my summer photo-organizing and attic-decorating projects (aka all-consuming vehicles of procrasination) and I have almost reached the place of holding myself hostage in the garret because I am "writing."

I have got company coming on Friday for five days! I have a birthday party to plan and a birthday to celebrate! Why won't I just dig in and get a significant chunk of the work done so that I can enjoy myself?

[Edited to add, Note to self: The lack of productivity? The breaking up? The not sleeping? The ayyy-what-is-wrong-I-cannot-work angst? The seemingly random thoughts about Will Ferrell? You do this at this time of year. . .every year.

Perhaps this should be alarming to me but it seriously seriously cheers me up.]