Productivy (Or Lack Thereof)

Well, it's 11ish PM, the Saturday before Easter. The rest of the family is presumably asleep. The cats are quiet. The neighbors' dogs are quiet, as are the neighbors themselves. It's just me, the computer, and my choice of graphics or word processor programs. I should be writing down one of the half a million story ideas drifting through the vast empty stretches of my pseudobrain. I should be playing with my Wacom tablet, drawing one of the many images that tend to come attached to said story ideas. At the very least, I should be looking at my web sites which haven't been updated since February - if nothing else, I ought to rotate book reviews at the Realm, and I have some dangerously complicated ideas for cyberpets and Hunt expansions (that won't make a bit of sense if you haven't been to my sites.) And yet I'm here.

I'm not sure when I first got in the habit of avoiding doing things I enjoy. It may be my lazy perfectionism syndrome kicking in. This is the syndrome wherein I have a strong desire to do things - great, wonderful, beautiful things - yet am unable to make myself start them because I know I need time and practice to get them right; if I can't do it perfectly the first time through, my brain tells me, why waste my time starting at all? Yes, I know practice makes perfect, but that's the problem with lazy perfectionism syndrome; it doesn't see practice, it sees wasted time and materials and an end product that's probably much more flawed to my eye simply because I alone know what I saw in my head when I started, and therefore can only see how it fails to match that initial vision. I also know there's an element of stinginess involved, which unemployment doesn't help with; much as I enjoy creating things, I find it difficult to justify buying a new pen or expensive paper when the cats need litter and I need food. I've also only recently acquired something resembling a workspace of my own, so I'm used to stopping myself from doing things with the excuse that I had nowhere to do it without everyone looking over my shoulder or burying my junk with their own junk. Even now, the mere thought of anyone possibly seeing what I'm doing or writing tends to make my fingers freeze up. Heck, I even freeze up when trying to read if I think someone might happen by, having been snapped at one too many times for failing to engage in conversations. (I'm usually fairly good at multitasking, but reading and talking are mutually exclusive; I've yet to find a tactful way to explain that "What are you reading?" comes across as "Whatever that is you're reading, stop reading it - and don't dare pick that book up again until I've left the room, you nonsocial twit!")

Among my resolutions for the new year, printed out and taped to the closet door above my computer where I have to stare at it every day, are "Do more artwork and writing," "Finish at least one story," and "Stop overthinking; start doing." December should've been enough of a smack between the eyes to remind me that time frittered away doesn't come back later when you need it. And yet I still do it, using most of my free time either wondering what I should be doing with my free time, second-guessing whatever I decide by telling myself why I can't or shouldn't do it or why I should do something else instead, wandering off in daydreams before reminding myself that I'm trying to actually do something, and then criticizing myself for having wasted it when I actually do have to do something else. Perhaps I'm not doing it quite as much as before - my sketchbook seems to be filling up at a faster rate than last year, and I'm the closest I've ever been to finishing an actual, non-Skyhaven-related story - but I'm still doing it. I suppose I'm just a creature of habit.

I just wasted half an hour typing this post. I suppose I ought to do something more productive with what remains of the night. Wonder what I'll end up doing...