My rebellion is rarely deliberate. It has more to do with impatience and scatterbrainedness (I know that isn’t a word, I am exercising my right to express myself free of dictionary dictate).
Schedule my blog spot for regular release? Bloody good idea but I have yet to master the art of scheduling. Dinner arrives on the table when dinner turns up. On occasion I may have to shop first. Washing gets done when washing gets done. My life is a demonstration of ‘Just in Time’, which sadly too often becomes ‘Just too Late’.
The only deadlines I meet belong to HMRC. They instil the fear of God in me. I wish someone would fine me for failing to write for a week, or falling off a diet. Maybe then I would be able get my arse in gear.
The downside of writing is that when I am on flow ‘Just too Late’ is never. The poor dogs grow old waiting for their walk. Washing moulders in the basket and cobwebs form like triffids. Sometime during the evening I will remember all the farm calls I was going to make and the cheques that required banking. As my stomach rumbles I will recall the lack of food in the fridge. Finally the dogs will get their walk, and I will get a pat on the back for eating nothing all day. Rest assured my lack of calories will be addressed with interest when I start imbibing. Thus breaking the rule of late eating and adopting the sumo diet.
Nothing works first time because I simply can’t be bothered to follow instructions until I have thoroughly tested my powers of deduction. Excuse me as I butt in on your forum/digital platform, ignoring all decency and protocol. It is likely that I was over-excited and multi-tasking. Our TV recorder lists a delectable array of ‘part recorded’ programmes that I will never watch. When I look at other people’s blogs I could cry with frustration. Where did they learn their get-it-togetherness?
“Impulse – cock-up – fire-fight” is this rebel’s mantra. To compensate for my inadequacies I frequently arrive at an important appointment hours ahead of time. “Boo sucks to scheduling” I cry triumphantly, as I shiver; twiddle my thumbs; candy-crush in the car.
Ah well. I am what I am, and what I am needs no excuses. Yet another indication of scatterbrainedness. There are few events which occur in my day that are not accompanied by song lyrics. I swear if I could reboot my brain and chuck out all the nonsense I would be born again as a together individual. I would miss those song lyrics sorely though.
I hope you enjoy my #MondayBlog (I may still use that hashtag even though it’s Wednesday). I am a rebel.