I haven’t written a post for this blog in a while. I made a deal with myself that I wouldn’t write any more posts until my taxes were filed.
I deeply underestimated the extent of my own ability to procrastinate.
I dived deeper into avoiding doing the one thing I needed to get done on a deadline than I ever had before—sinking headfirst into the fathomless ocean of staring blankly at my ceiling while thinking about doing my taxes.
Finally, I hit the ocean’s floor—what I imagined to be the rock bottom of procrastination.
I was wrong. Terribly wrong.
My descent did not stop there. I burrowed like a sandworm into the floor’s craggy depths, penetrating the molten womb of the earth beneath the surface. It embraced me, enveloping me in the doughy warmth of the The Great British Bake Off. I floated in avoidance of civic and fiscal responsibility, gestating on the couch while a steady stream of biscuits, bread sculptures and colorful fondant invaded my cerebral cortex.
The idea sprang into my brain that I should bake a loaf of bread—a terrible idea.
I did it anyway. Then I ate the bread—a worse idea.
Laying on the bathroom floor, my gut roiling like the seven seas with underproofed, underbaked bread, I once again found myself staring at my ceiling… thinking about the impending tax deadline.
Two weeks later, I finally did my taxes. #Adulting
The Rookery 