Tagged: beinglizardek

There is no lack of things I could be doing, and yet projects are sitting unfinished on the desk, on the art table, in the house, lurking in closets, and in the garden. I am not really procrastinating since none of these projects are urgent or, really, necessary, but if lethargy were currency, I’d be the richest woman in the world, baby! As it is, I seem to just be the most unmotivated one. I don’t feel particularly like recording or editing music, or editing journal books or working in my OH SO NEGLECTED collage book or even writing here...

Ever tried to see how many things you can do at once? If you’re one of my women readers, that is…we all know men can only handle one thing at a time. >:P I think most people can handle 2, maybe 3, things at once. You can cook dinner and keep an eye on the baby, perhaps. Or watch television and knit a scarf. You can certainly walk and talk simultaneously, I’m sure. Today I think I accidentally multi-tasked myself to a standstill. I had 8 projects in progress at once: weeding the front garden bed, cleaning the fish tank,...

You know, I think I do pretty good with my little half hour walks 2 or 3 times a week, but usually Martin, and sometimes Karin, goes with me and I know I must subconsciously reduce my pace to fit his substantially shorter legs. He’s game for the walk and he keeps up just fine, since I don’t dawdle, but I know I’m not REALLY pushing myself. Because today? After power-walking for FIVE KILOMETERS with 9,300 other women through beautiful Pildamms Park in central Malmö (and another 2K from the parking lot and back again) I know exactly which muscles...

I like going fast. I like driving fast (at least, faster than I should, though I don’t like going TOO fast, because that triggers my control issues) and I like working fast. I read fast. I type fast. I eat fast. (which I’m told is not a good thing) I respond quickly in conversations with snappy comebacks. I make snap judgements sometimes. I don’t live in the fast lane, though. And I have never fasted in my life, though I understand it can be quite cleansing. I have no idea why I wrote all of that. It just came out....

I said, I don’t know how to get started again. I don’t know where to begin. It seems so trivial to just write a diary-log of my days, what I did, where I went, what I bought. What I ate. It’s more fun and it means more to me when I write things that seem to reflect the inner surface of my shiny and distracted brain. Things that I want to read about when someone else writes them. Things that make me smile or think or go “huh, that was cool.” My mom said, write about your family. Write about...

Wasn’t gonna write tonight because my brain is in translation mode and I had to literally tear myself away from my work in progress (almost half done! woo! I rock!) and my scanned PDF source file and the Swedish-English dictionary and the Stora Ordboken and the SAOB and PUT THE KEYBOARD DOWN. I pictured myself whirling about the room in a long white lacy nightgown while the maidservants turned down the bedcovers and hung up my robe, hugging the keyboard to my breast and crooning I could have worked all night, I could have worked all night and can’t decide...