Procrastination

So...I've been meaning to post something here for some time, get a productive blog going again. But what to post? What about that demon that's been haunting me lately: Procrastination. If he had a form, he'd be a fat, lazy, slovenly man with belly-button lint caking his navel and clothes that haven't been washed in at least a week. I once wrote a meta prose poem about him:

Procrastination melts your time into a river of laziness and lassitude. It’s a sleep without dreams or memory. One minute you’re here, the next, hours later, you’re still…here. You can trace time, tell it, “Yes, I was doing something.” Time will shake its head and say, “Nothing meaningful.” “Nothing meaningful,” you echo, raising your metaphorical fists into the metaphorical air, screaming, “Damn you, Procrastination.” Then you calm, briefly, to reflect, to stop feeling bad for yourself. And you realize, and by you I mean me, you realize in these late hours, “I wrote this poem because of Procrastination.” And so you must bow, bow deeply to all the gods of despair.

I guess he does have some uses. He sort of prompted me to write this blog entry in the first place. And he does make you do interesting things. Earlier today I wrote up a grammar and vocabulary for a language instead of working on the novel I really should be working on. Still, I prefer the attractive woman feeding me ideas (how I picture my Muse) to the fat man slowing me down. Of course, maybe She's not the type of Muse I need: