Procrastination Station

I started this blog with the very good intention of writing 2-3 times a week. Friends who know me well (and somehow still love me) suggested I aim lower. I’ve come to realize—and even accept—that I often have very good intentions, but usually fall short on seeing them through. I’m terrible at calling or sending cards (I actually have an entire drawer of cards I’ve purchased for specific people and purposes that I never sent), I collect exercise equipment that doesn’t get used, and seeing that my last post was now nearly a summer ago, clearly my 2-3 a week was ambitious. Fuck me.

From the outside looking in, I would tell myself (or anyone camped out at the procrastination station) to simply do more and be better. Given the 2020 stressors that just won’t quit—and the fact that only those friends mentioned above read this silly little thing—I won’t beat myself up too much for my obvious failures. Instead, I’ll set an intention to heed my own advice: “just be fucking better, Angel.”

What I have been doing—while not keeping in touch with my loved ones, or finding my abs, and definitely not writing new posts—is mentally preparing for the next round of remote learning that somehow begins for us next week. My main method has been to simply ignore the fact that it’s happening altogether and instead focus my energies on parenting, work and enjoying ALL the sunshine. Despite the shit-show year of 2020, it was a great summer: Jacoby went to camp, played summer baseball, and we spent time together (so much family time!) hiking and doing other outdoorsy-ish shit…it felt beautifully normal despite the masks.

And now, less than a week away, the start of home learning is staring me in the face and I’m asking myself (sometimes out loud) if I’m strong enough to take on this juggling act again, or if this will be what breaks me. The first round was nothing short of traumatizing, and I’m dreading the start of 2nd grade with all my might. But here it is, six days away.

And with that, I’m back. Summer was a welcome reprieve, but it’s come to a fast end. Writing (along with stump removal and wine) is my therapy and I’ll need it more than ever. I’m fucking back.