Procrastination: To drags one's ass in such a way as to ensure one's place in life as a loser.
I'm such a good procrastinator. I'm a champion. I was born procrastinating (two weeks late). Without deadlines, I'm a totally wasted case - this is where the free spirit that everyone so loves becomes a barnacle, rather than an amorphous play-pretty. So here I am yawning and scratching and wondering what to write, and I've got 1/2 an hour to "git 'er done."
What's on your minds today? You never say... you just leave me here alone in the dark with no one to change the lightbulb. I've asked you for topics and yet, you just sit there, staring numbly at the computer screen, waiting for the oracle to hie you home. Rattle my cage, dammit! It's no less than I've given you. Ain't no output without input, savvy?
In other news: my blister is all healed up; I got my info packet from 3Day.org; got all my fundraising letters sent out; I've already raised $390 toward my goal - c'mon folks, give 'til it hurts! I'll be walking until it does... well beyond that really. And none of that compares to the pain of those who live with breast cancer, and those who lose to breast cancer.
Swear to all the gods... if I have to nurse one more person through the final stages of cancer, any cancer, and the tragedy is that I most likely will. If I do, I'm going to start grabbing people by the nostrils (hell, I'm ready now). Wake the fuck UP! This is an absolutely ugly, nasty way to die, and it's no way to live either. Make it stop. Give up your lattes for a month and keep me walking. Because you all know me... I will walk until I drop dead if it would make a difference.
If I don't see $1000 on my goal meter by tomorrow, I'm going to post a description of exactly what it takes, physically and emotionally, to nurse someone through the final stages of cancer. I've done it three times now, so I'll have plenty of ammo. You don't want me to go there.
And I thought I had nothing to say today. See what happens when you get me riled?