To do or not to do

You guys, I really thought I had the procrastination thing licked. Like, I know if there's one thing that won't make me happy as opposed to making me happy it's wasting time when there's shit I need to be doing. And yet here I am, 11:22am - half the day is nearly gone and I'm still in my jimbly-jamblys and googling 'George Lamb girlfriend' just because, well... *looks ashamed* small voice: 'I kinda fancy him'. Actually, I did but then Holy Moly revealed the following (that may or may not be true but I am as susceptible to this stuff as any 20-something raised on a diet of gossip-blogs and Heat magazine):



and then I didn't anymore. Even if he does have salt and pepper hair (it's only since I noticed the salt and pepper hair that I've been in lust) and dresses really well (he really is an excellent dresser).

I also saw what his girlf looks like and ain't no way me competing with that.

Point is, procrastination. I hate it. I can't relax when there's things to do and I haven't done them yet but on the first night of a week off work I got suckered into a two-for-one cocktails deal by a homosexual and then spent more money on alcohol in the world's best ever pub (it really is. People go 'oh that pub, it's the best pub ever' and you're like 'sure, sure it is, people dancing on tables to Guns'n'Roses? That definitely sounds like the best pub ever' and then you go and you're like 'HOLY SHIITE! This is the best pub EVER! There are people dancing on tables to Guns'n'Roses! This is the best!' And there are and they do. It was a Friday night in July and everyone in that place knew all the words to all the songs and everyone was dancing like it was New Years Eve or something. But without the inherent feeling of depression because it wasn't actually New Years Eve. The best). 'Were there loads of poseurs' I was asked after (the death knell for any cool drinking hole in my world) and I said 'no' but, in truth, I have no idea. I was in a drunk bubble. Unless you were within a one meter radius of me and directly within my eye line I didn't see you or have any real notion you existed. That is the power of the drunk bubble. SO, that's an explanation for why I spent Saturday being queasy and watching Barbara Streisand films. Which isn't what I'd had planned for that day. I still have ironing to do, a shower to take, a yoga dvd to put on and maybe do (I probably won't do), paintings to paint (I gave my bedroom a spruce and covered the walls in bright yellow as a sort of physical manifestation of the internal changes I've gone through of me moving on and doing better and so I'm left with this gap where I pre-planned two paintings whilst seemingly forgetting that at some point I would have to do some actual painting of the canvases), I have my accounts to do (for real yo) but I'm not doing any it. I'm here, talking about it. Might as well finish off watching 'What's Up, Doc?' I guess. Babs is smokin' in this one.