Tuesday 20 July 2010

Procrastination


I’m lucky enough to have a job where I only work during term time (no, I’m not a teacher –that would involve being in close contact with children every day, no thanks). This means that I get three and a half months off during the summer in which I can do pretty much whatever I want. In the weeks leading up to the close of term I start to dream up grand ideas of what I’ll be able to do with all that glorious time off. I could work on some screenplay ideas, practice my French, work on improving my running speed and overall fitness, catch up on TV shows and films I’ve missed, catalogue my modest little library of books… The list goes on and on. Then my first week off rolls around and I inevitably fall into the following schedule:

7.45am- get up, but only because husband has to get ready for work and someone has to watch the dog
8.30am til 12/1pm- doze on the couch whilst half watching old episodes of Beverly Hills 90210 on DVD
1pm til 3pm- eat lunch/have a shower/take the dog out for his afternoon walk
3pm- decide to do something productive like work on some writing ideas
3.05pm- get distracted by the Internet
3.05pm til 5.30pm- become sucked into a StumbleUpon vortex
5.30pm til 8pm- husband comes home so I make dinner then we take the dog out on his evening walk
8pm til 1am- try writing again for about five minutes until I realise I need to research something on Google. Before I know it, it’s 1am and I’ve spent the past five hours reading about Lindsay Lohan’s latest situation whilst simultaneously watching videos on YouTube of sleepwalking dogs.
1am- go to bed, determined that tomorrow I will actually do something productive with my time off

The worst thing I could ever do to my productivity was install the StumbleUpon toolbar on my browser. Now every time I open up Firefox to quickly check my email the button is there, whispering to me- just press me once, it’s no big deal. Except once I start, I can’t stop. I’m convinced that I’m missing out on the most hilarious/interesting/life altering website ever if I don’t press the button one more time, even though nine times out of ten all I get is a recipe for muffins or a lolcat (this probably says more about my interests than StumbleUpon to be honest). Even now, as I write this, I’m considering opening up another tab and getting my fix.

I need to go cold turkey and just delete the toolbar. Right after I’ve pressed the button one more time.

Sunday 18 July 2010

My dog is a weirdo, part one.

My husband and I have had Milo, our four-year old Cocker Spaniel, since he was eight weeks old and in that time we’ve discovered that he has quite a few interesting quirks. To the outsider (i.e. anyone who doesn’t have to live with him), they might seem cute, but when you’re in a hurry to get out the door and take him on his walk because Film4 is showing Lost in Translation in an hour and yes, you do own it on DVD and even if you didn’t you have one of those fancy boxes that lets you record TV, you still want to watch it when it’s actually being aired because YOU JUST DO, OK? but all Milo wants to do is slowly eat his kibble, piece by agonising piece, it’s not so endearing. Milo has a thing about eating his food at certain times. And by that I don’t mean he will only eat it if it’s placed in front of him at a certain time of day- I mean he will only eat it when his lead has been put on and we’re about to take him out the door. It’s as if he thinks that every time we take him out, it could well be for some sort of eternal walk, one in which there will be no stopping for food, EVER, and will only end when he dies from malnutrition and exhaustion.  Therefore he must savour this delicious last meal of lamb and rice -flavoured kibble. 
Another obsession Milo has is with licking. Research (read: five minutes on Google) has told me this could be to do with some sort of separation anxiety, but I really think he is just constantly amazed at this thing that comes out of his mouth that he can use to taste all these amazing things with. Like the living room carpet. And our sofa. And the inside of my husband’s ear. Sometimes he will lick to the point where even he realises how ridiculous it is, by which point he will have become so hysterical with all the licking that all he can do is loll about on the floor while panting and looking at us with the eyes of a serial killer. Sometimes I fear for my life, but then I realise that unless he figures out a way to lick me to death I really have nothing to worry about.