The problem with me is that I like to waste my time. For hours, I obsess over what I call "art," only to tuck it away in a dog-eared brown envelope with pages of other "art" that look exactly like it, never to see daylight again. For hours, too, I agonize over three-sentence paragraphs, which, in the end, do not say anything. For weeks and weeks, I watch television shows over and over again out of sentimentality, because I do not like endings. Books, too, take forever to finish because I pause every paragraph or so to ruminate over every slight sign of profundity. I spend half the day daydreaming, and the other half telling people about it. For all I have I done so far is think, I have, in the end, accomplished nothing.
Snap out of it. Now, most of all!
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