I'm tired. Tired of being lazy. Not only am I tired, I am sick and tired of my life of procrastination.
I blame it on my childhood. I don't take that stance as an excuse to keep being who I know I am, I merely acknowledge the source of my lazy procrastination.
Growing up, I was a hard worker. I could finish two sinks of dishes in ten minutes flat. It didn't matter if there was an inch and a half of kidney beans and rice burnt onto the bottom of the pot. With no steel wool, ever, I accomplished that task as if I was born for it. I could shovel a corner property's sidewalks and a few neighbors driveways in an hour. I'd soak myself in sweat and yet I enjoyed it.
In the summers, I used to work fourteen to twenty hour days, ripping off roofs and putting them back on. I'd tear into a demolition on a house like a madman and go all day with nothing but a Mountain Dew. If I struggled with some school work, I would weep all my tears clean out of my head and then settle down and work toward a solution.
I felt like I was preparing myself for a life of opulent success. I received junk mail for running my own business. It didn't matter what it was, I was convinced that working for the man was the wrong thing to do. You had to work for yourself to get rich.
Then I grew up. People stopped telling me what to do, and I lost all my desire and resolve. Sure, it was still bottled up in my head. All my friends and relatives can attest to that fact. Every few months or so I dream up a great idea and spread it around to the world. Anyone within earshot for two weeks straight gets to sit through my animated detailing of my newest business idea. I have started more businesses in my head than Rockefeller has dollars.
But, I've never stepped out and done any of them.
Look out world. I'm about to do something - or ten things - crazy! Laziness and procrastination be damned, life is about to begin.
I blame it on my childhood. I don't take that stance as an excuse to keep being who I know I am, I merely acknowledge the source of my lazy procrastination.
Growing up, I was a hard worker. I could finish two sinks of dishes in ten minutes flat. It didn't matter if there was an inch and a half of kidney beans and rice burnt onto the bottom of the pot. With no steel wool, ever, I accomplished that task as if I was born for it. I could shovel a corner property's sidewalks and a few neighbors driveways in an hour. I'd soak myself in sweat and yet I enjoyed it.
In the summers, I used to work fourteen to twenty hour days, ripping off roofs and putting them back on. I'd tear into a demolition on a house like a madman and go all day with nothing but a Mountain Dew. If I struggled with some school work, I would weep all my tears clean out of my head and then settle down and work toward a solution.
I felt like I was preparing myself for a life of opulent success. I received junk mail for running my own business. It didn't matter what it was, I was convinced that working for the man was the wrong thing to do. You had to work for yourself to get rich.
Then I grew up. People stopped telling me what to do, and I lost all my desire and resolve. Sure, it was still bottled up in my head. All my friends and relatives can attest to that fact. Every few months or so I dream up a great idea and spread it around to the world. Anyone within earshot for two weeks straight gets to sit through my animated detailing of my newest business idea. I have started more businesses in my head than Rockefeller has dollars.
But, I've never stepped out and done any of them.
Look out world. I'm about to do something - or ten things - crazy! Laziness and procrastination be damned, life is about to begin.
Atta boy. I'm cheering from the sidelines!
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