So, five (well, four-ish) days and counting until I bid farewell to my current job, my corner window office (with a lovely view of the building across the way) and some badass coworkers who have learned that I have a penchant for old school Tribe Called Quest intermixed with Jeff Buckley and the occasional Babs/Barry Gibb duet. It’s a wonder anyone on this hall gets any work done with the sounds of my MP3 player warbling bad 80’s tunes and R. Kelly.
As such, I have impressed even myself with my ability to procrastinate. I have, surprisingly enough, a full plate this week — freelance features due tomorrow, Wednesday and Thursday, a bevy of follow-up calls for she she me, interviews for aforementioned feature story, final expense reports, cleaning up my abominably messy desk, and yet I sit here, hitting “send/receive” on Outlook, IMing friends, contemplating purchasing a new book, editing stories, talking on the phone to Tucker Max, and generally wasting the very time that would be better-suited doing all of the things that I’m supposed to be doing anyway.
How is this? I work well under pressure. I’m the quintessential Type-A-when-needed person who has only recently learned the inherent wonderfulness of the snooze button and leaving things until the last minute. Granted, I’m a card-carrying over-committer and have definitely taken on more than I can handle, but this is getting a little out of hand. I sit here. I look at my to-do list (which, by the way, MUST have the words “To Do” at the top of it, as if I could easily confuse it with, say, a letter or a “Not-To-Do” list. Idiotic, but creatures of habit and all that…) I check my web stats. I wander to weather.com to check the weather for Steeplechase and for Chicago next week. I hit “Send/Receive.” I remember I should email [insert anyone in my cell phone who is likely to receive a drunken call or five from me] about [anything and everything.] I IM a few more friends. I look at the expense report screen, get lazy. I look at the envelope containing approx. $1000 of receipts to GET my newest expense report, and give it an angry glare at the fact that its weight exceeds the two stamps I have. I contemplate going to the post office, deciding against it. I look online for tap shoes that aren’t 1/2 size too small, and then remember I need to email [insert random friend here] to tell them about my on-camera tap dance routine that I performed for Atlanta’s Finest on Saturday night outside the gas station, ending my performance with a big bow and the statement “Am I gonna be on Cops?” (Apparently, not likely, but I’ve got wagers on whether or not this shows up at the next FOP Christmas party.) I think and try to remember where I put my book and wonder if I should try and hit Barnes & Noble after work. I refresh the message board. I re-check my stats, noting that they haven’t gone up. I look at my to-do list with the ever-growing knawing stress that NOTHING is getting the much-needed checkmark next to it. I feed George. I put on some hand lotion. I refill my 32-oz water cup as a feeble attempt to stop my stomach from performing yet another exercise in anxiety. I remember that I need to email my date for tomorrow night. I continue to type this entry.
By now, you get the picture.
What is my problem, kids? Anyone have any solutions?