Time, time, time. What has become of me?

This coming Monday will be one month since I gave the old heave-ho to my position as an Academic Advisor. The past four weeks have been good and bad all at once. Good because I have had time to write and explore which is all I ever really wanted to do in the first place. Bad because when I have too much time to do just one thing I usually fall prey to my worst vice of all. Worse than emotional eating. Worse than gossiping. The mother of all my vices is procrastination.

Does this sound familiar to you? If you have 30 things to do and only a couple of hours to do them, you can bang them out one-by-one and get everything done, right? And you do this because you know you have to. There is a consequence if you don't. In contrast, if you have two things to do, say, job search and write three pages of the next chapter of your book, and you have hours upon hours to get these two tasks accomplished, you can't get anything done, right? And you make up every excuse in the book as you sit there, watching the hours pass by on the lower right hand corner of your computer screen. There. Another minute just passed.

Procrastination, when reduced to its simplest elements, can be a real art form. (See how convincing that almost sounded? True procrastinators will defend it to the death and in as eloquent a manner as possible.) I have suffered from this self-imposed affliction since college. I would wait until the night before a big paper was due, start it at 11pm, be done by 2am and get an A. I don't say this to brag but more to explain why I am now having trouble taking self-imposed deadlines seriously. There is no longer someone else waiting to judge my work that is due at a particular time. There is no more promise of a big beautiful red A on my first page, signifying things like "A-pproval" and "A-wesome" and "A-we-inspiring". (I am such an attention whore in this respect. But at least I admit it.) In short, there is no immediate consequence.

I know that eventually, when I am done with my manuscript and trying to get published, someone who will judge my work on a whole new playing field will appear. But that will come later. And why think about today what I can put off until the day after tomorrow, right?

Of course, all of this is said in jest. Everything but most of it.

So what has taken up my days? My favorite "distractions" have been the following and these are in no particular order:
-checking my email (both accounts) at least three times an hour
-logging into MySpace (which I usually only peruse once a week) at least twice a day
-visiting Whole Foods for both lunch and dinner instead of just doing one big shopping trip
-reading any and all newslinks that pop up on my Gmail that have anything remotely to do with my interests
-going to yoga at least once a day (and usually at the most inopportune time of day)
-talking to cashiers and mail persons whom I just used to wave to
-taking hour showers/taking way too long to get ready
-and finally, milling over the audition process and locations in regards to the upcoming season of American Idol all the while contemplating song and wardrobe choices

I know. I know. Even as I write this I am ashamed. You're feeling even better about yourself as you read this, right? You efficient, job-holding, productive member of society, you. Look at you, all smug and successful. Listen, I have been doing things, ok? If you don't believe me, look at what I have done in the past month, despite my aforementioned methods of procrastination:

Week One: Arose bright and early at 5:30am (just like I had done the following week when I was still employed). Applied to at least 4-5 jobs a day. Wrote and brainstormed and created with ease. Worked out everyday for fear of being not just broke and jobless but also chubby. My roommate Martin, the free spirit of the house, actually said, "You are making we want to be a better person by how focused you are." I feel redeemed and energized. He also says, "But you should chill out a little bit, ok? You are going to drive yourself crazy." I ignore him and proceed as before. Oh, naive Martin.

Week One-and-a-half: Suddenly my 5:30 wake-ups don't seem to make much sense as I am often still quite tired from the night before and how am I supposed to be ready to write and job search if I'm tired, huh? It's hot and my AC is too noisy and trying to fall asleep in the heat takes a long time, ok? Longer than you'd think. I apply to 2-3 jobs a day and convince myself I am now just being particular (not lazy as most people would assume). I re-read my outline more than write new pages but still manage to make some progress. My bedtime gets later. My normal nutritional guidelines are suddenly up for interpretation. I think, It's summer, it's time for ice cream. I convince myself I am just adjusting to this new but most likely brief period of my life and still navigating the transition. I still have my act together.

Week Two: I set my alarm each night but turn it off when it goes off and then sleep in until 8am. Or 9. Or 9:30. I make it to yoga, but cut my daily practice back to two or three times a week. I contemplate applying to jobs more than actually apply to them. I am a fiend on email if on no other form of writing. Martin says, "I'm glad you took my advice. You look much calmer." I start getting nervous.

Week Three: The father of my closest friend passes and all bets are off. I do not write. I do not job search. I eat and sleep and pray for my friend. I also stare off into space and go to the movies in the middle of the day to escape thinking. I cannot tell what day of the week it is as one blurs into the next. I attend the funeral services and finally cry about it, for who she has lost and also what she has yet to go through. I take up running though my knees are shot. I try to get my bearings back. I fool myself into thinking I already have.

Which brings me to this week. The fourth week. I am still a little serious but have remembered how to smile in the last few days, even laugh. My friend is hanging in there. The clock is no longer ruling my life but it is reminding me what one can accomplish in a mere 60 minutes and what one really should accomplish since even though there might not be a consequence there really is no guarantee. I have no interviews planned for the near future but I am still hopeful and continuing to plug away. I am proud to say I have finished my first chapter. I have also written the first page of the second. And for right now, though I wish I had accomplished much more in the past month, I am choosing to be ok with that.