That’s it. I have had enough of redefining the word ‘procrastination’.
I will write. I will write, and I will find solace. I will write, and I will bring my inner turmoil to peace, however transient that peace may be. I will write, and I will end this infernal word race.
What is this word race thingamajig, you ask.
Okay, picture this.
You’re all snuggled up, pen poised. You’ve just had a brilliant idea which absolutely needs to be put down on paper. You can feel the words brimming over and you cannot wait to pour them out in a beautiful, crazy gush.
The words are gearing up for WW3 in your tired brain: quarreling, bickering, shoving, pushing each other out of the way to win their eternal race towards the finishing line that is the tip of your tongue. Survival of the fittest is as valid here as in the external world, really.
Right at the finish line (c’mon words you’ve almost made it), the leader abruptly loses interest. It glances haughtily at the runner-up as if to say, meh whatever, you can go first, bro. The runner up eagerly rushes towards the end, but wait— it falters, stumbles, backs up. Looks imploringly at the next in line, who by now has caught on to the pattern. It nudges its neighbour, who nudges its own neighbour, who, in turn, nudges its own neighbour— until…
You have nothing to write.
And neither do I.
Image Source: flickr.com