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I Suck Mental Health Sucks

The art of procrastination

An except from “My Typical Sunday Morning”…a tale from Jerm.

I wake up around 11 a.m, closer to 11:30 or noon on the weekends, which it currently is. I roll around in bed fighting the fact that I need to get my lazy ass up and I do have to piss. The cats are downstairs meowing as soon as they detect life from me and they’re yeowling at me today. Onwards I go…

Run upstairs in my underwear and a tee, piss, get my three cups of coffee brewing, and feed the cats. Biggie gets a quarter-can, fat-ass Bibbers gets the other three-fuggin-fourths of the can, and now that they’re content I get around to writing. I think it’s a good thing to do today. Maybe I can write a blog post? Or write about that always-procastinated topic of “unpacking my emotions.” That can always wait.

Back downstairs to put pants on, snag my vape, phone, and stumble back upstairs. It’s cloudy again, let me state that, and at the top of the stairs I pause. Oh, I forgot my Giant Water Mug. Back downstairs. Mug acquired, and onto the comfy chair I go.

Oh, I forgot my coffee. Coffee acquired.

Oh, my Giant Mug is empty. Let me refill that.

Let me grab my computer. Computer acquired. I open the screen. I realize there’s a blanket on the floor; that sounds comfy let me put that over my legs first. Okay! Computer acquired again. I open Google Docs. Oh, I have to pee…

Bladder empty and after examining my homemade handsoap — the family has been giving me rave reviews on it! — I sit back down in my chair. Acquire computer. Forget blanket. Get blanket and computer. Here we go!

My wife is watching Kitchen Nightmares with the legend himself Gordon F. Ramsay and this show, as with all reality shows, is the TV version of crack-cocaine. A show built on intense drama is a bit addictive, and I know I can’t write a fucking thing with Gordon bitching at narcissistic restaurateurs as background noise.

Let me acquire my headphones. Headphones acquired, paired, synced, charged, and adjusted to comfortably fit on my head. More coffee acquired. More water acquired. Let’s fucking go; it’s fucking time to write!

Chair, blanket, computer, set, go! I open Spotify. What do I listen to to write? What sets the right write mood? I try out M83’s ‘Midnight City’ and feel it might work.

The coffee kicks in and I realize I have to shit before I write.

Bowels emptied, hands washed, more analyzing my homemade hand-soap, and I stumble into the kitchen to stare at the snow out the window. Why is it fucking snowing? Is the sun ever going to come out?! We’re going on four weeks now…

…can we detonate a nuke up in the stratosphere and clear the clouds away for a bit. Would that work?

C, B, C, set and go! M83 is not fucking working — Midnight City makes me feel as if it’s 4 a.m. and I’m so damn tired but over-caffinated and we’re driving along as the sun is starting to come up and we’re wondering what the hell we’re doing with our lives, really — and I can’t write when I’m feeling like that. So onto…get this…Taylor Swift’s Midnights. Now this will work…it’s a pretty chill album and seemingly perfect for writing.

I open up Google Docs, or navigate back to it, It’s now 1:25 1:40 p.m. and how have I pissed away an hour and a half just fucking around? I wasn’t on Reddit! I wasn’t even Gaming! I was just…roaming around the fucking house doing absolutely nothing. Whatever. Let’s write. For real now.

My mind is blank and I have no idea what I’m actually supposed to write about. I’m not inspired. I’m not feeling it, at least not today. Maybe tomorrow! Maybe I should think about a topic to write about, wait for the inspiration, and then write! That’s an idea.

By TheBlackhairedGuy

I'm a guy. And I have black hair. Well not really because it is slowly turning grey. I suppose TheNotquiteBlackhairedGuy doesn't have quite the same ring to it, does it? I write the blog EverythingSucks.blog as well as dabble in some freelance writing.

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