Friday, February 11, 2005
Procrastination
Okay, okay. For all that I've learned over the past week -- the past few months, even -- there's something that I haven't learned:
How not to procrastinate.
Sure, the paper's due on Tuesday and it's Thursday night and I have 21/26 pages written and that should stand me in good stead, right?
Right?
Right.
Um.
Yeah.
I've got a lot of work to do yet, but I'm brainfogged, braindead, and not motivated.
So!
Instead, I'll tell you a story about a girl named Arwyn.
Once upon a time...
(Because all stories begin Once upon a time..., whether they happened a thousand years ago or last week. Yesterday, at 2:18 PM... just doesn't sound half so cool.)
...a girl named Arwyn stepped out of her warm, cozy house...
(That would be the big brick edifice that we call "The Tower", and which is only warm because the school overheats it and doesn't let the girl adjust her own thermostat, making her have to open the window at night even when it's -4 outside just so she doesn't boil in her bed)
...and into a raging blizzard! It raged and it roared, and its wild fury swept the cold coastlands of southern Maine!
But Arwyn was brave, and tucked her warm Russian hat around her ears, and pulled on her warm winter coat, and tugged her warm woolen mittens over her cold fingers, and out into the storm she ventured.
She slipped and she slid down the stairs from her door, and she slipped and she slid along the barren parking lot, and she slipped and she slid allllllllll the way across Maine Street...
(Where she didn't get hit by any cars -- yay! -- but did stumble into a big slush puddle and got her leather boot all wet -- boo! -- but luckily it was waterproof just enough to keep her socks all dry -- yay! -- and she continued her adventure.)
...to the house of that brave General, Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain. Even that noble dwelling was caked and crowded with snow, for the blizzard was fierce, and though it stood strong in the face of adverse winds and stormy skies, the flakes had frosted its sills and lintels.
Woe!
Past the house brave Arwyn trudged, each step a chore, each minute an agony of snow and wind lashing directly into her face, stinging nose and eyes, and chapping lips with chill!
(Naw, it really wasn't that bad. The snow was in her face, maybe; and she was walking into the wind, which made it seem that bad...but life is never as bad as it seems. Right?)
Past the house and down the hill and across the railroad tracks she pushed against that harsh February wind; down the cobbled walk of Maine Street; through the raging storm and to an inn. The door stood stiff against her efforts to open it, and she struggled and struggled...
(Mainly because the door opened in and she was trying to pull it out, but that's just details. Right? Right. Details. And it wasn't an inn. It was the Big Top Deli. But fairy tales never take place in delis.)
...and finally came off conqueror. Into the dry warmth of the inn she stepped with a long sign of relief, and called for meat and bread and cheese and a drink fit for one beset so long by the cold!
(Well, meat and cheese and a drink, anyway. Or, rather, a bottle of water and an Italian sub on her own bread -- an Ezekiel 4:9 Sprouted Grain Tortilla, which she loves and adores and likes to wrap many, many sorts of things in.)
Famished by the ordeal, she tucked into her refreshment with appetite to fit a bear! And while she ate, who should step through the door but Amanda of Brunswick...
(That's my friend Amanda. She sings alto with me in the Chorus. No. She sings alto in the Chorus. I kinda try to sing. Sort of. But compared to her, I croak.)
...who had also braved the elements that blustery afternoon! After a fair meal and much fine conversation -- after they had warmed and thawed and prepared themselves again to meet the blizzard's onslaught -- brave Arwyn and Amanda forged their way toward the great castle in the distance...
(That would be the big fort at the end of Maine Street.)
...that guarded the frozen waterway, the mighty Androscoggin...
(There's a dam on the river there, at least. But the water's frozen. Like, frozen in a waterfall over the dam. So pretty!)
...that shimmered and danced beneath the cover of ice. But could they see it? No. The snow shielded that fair water from their eyes.
At the castle's entry, a knight, valiant for courage and strength, blocked their way. "Two questions I will pose to you," he called out in challenge, "And if you answer wise and fair,
I will allow you passage!"
Thus challenged, these brave and daring girls could not, would not stand down. "Ask!" they commanded, and the knight proceeded:
"First! Does not the wind blow heavy against you, and the snow obscure your sight?
"And second! Do you possess amongst yourselves the ways and means of fire?
(Right. Which, in layman's terms, mean: "Nasty weather, isn't it?" and "Got a light?")
These questions the girls answered honestly and forthright, for they were no great challenge -- no great challenge to those who had overcome the storm, overcome the rage of old Father Frost!
Into the castle, then, and up the many-tiered staircase, and to the fourth floor, and swiftly, and swiftly, and swiftly to the end of the long, long hallway--
--and thence?
Into the salon!
"Off with their hair!" cried the scissor-handed women there. "Off with their braids and their pony-tails! Off, off with it!"
And the girl named Arwyn sat in the chair, and humbly submitted to the ministrations of the woman with scissors...
(And endured "small talk". I'm horrible at "small talk." Especially with people I don't know. But the lady was cool, and seemed to be having fun with my hair, at least).
...and in the end, long braids were collected, placed into bags, and sent with a messenger upon a swift horse to a place where they are needed more.
And this is the story of how a girl named Arwyn procrastinated away her Thursday afternoon.
The End.
(Wanna see? Here and here.)
How not to procrastinate.
Sure, the paper's due on Tuesday and it's Thursday night and I have 21/26 pages written and that should stand me in good stead, right?
Right?
Right.
Um.
Yeah.
I've got a lot of work to do yet, but I'm brainfogged, braindead, and not motivated.
So!
Instead, I'll tell you a story about a girl named Arwyn.
Once upon a time...
(Because all stories begin Once upon a time..., whether they happened a thousand years ago or last week. Yesterday, at 2:18 PM... just doesn't sound half so cool.)
...a girl named Arwyn stepped out of her warm, cozy house...
(That would be the big brick edifice that we call "The Tower", and which is only warm because the school overheats it and doesn't let the girl adjust her own thermostat, making her have to open the window at night even when it's -4 outside just so she doesn't boil in her bed)
...and into a raging blizzard! It raged and it roared, and its wild fury swept the cold coastlands of southern Maine!
But Arwyn was brave, and tucked her warm Russian hat around her ears, and pulled on her warm winter coat, and tugged her warm woolen mittens over her cold fingers, and out into the storm she ventured.
She slipped and she slid down the stairs from her door, and she slipped and she slid along the barren parking lot, and she slipped and she slid allllllllll the way across Maine Street...
(Where she didn't get hit by any cars -- yay! -- but did stumble into a big slush puddle and got her leather boot all wet -- boo! -- but luckily it was waterproof just enough to keep her socks all dry -- yay! -- and she continued her adventure.)
...to the house of that brave General, Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain. Even that noble dwelling was caked and crowded with snow, for the blizzard was fierce, and though it stood strong in the face of adverse winds and stormy skies, the flakes had frosted its sills and lintels.
Woe!
Past the house brave Arwyn trudged, each step a chore, each minute an agony of snow and wind lashing directly into her face, stinging nose and eyes, and chapping lips with chill!
(Naw, it really wasn't that bad. The snow was in her face, maybe; and she was walking into the wind, which made it seem that bad...but life is never as bad as it seems. Right?)
Past the house and down the hill and across the railroad tracks she pushed against that harsh February wind; down the cobbled walk of Maine Street; through the raging storm and to an inn. The door stood stiff against her efforts to open it, and she struggled and struggled...
(Mainly because the door opened in and she was trying to pull it out, but that's just details. Right? Right. Details. And it wasn't an inn. It was the Big Top Deli. But fairy tales never take place in delis.)
...and finally came off conqueror. Into the dry warmth of the inn she stepped with a long sign of relief, and called for meat and bread and cheese and a drink fit for one beset so long by the cold!
(Well, meat and cheese and a drink, anyway. Or, rather, a bottle of water and an Italian sub on her own bread -- an Ezekiel 4:9 Sprouted Grain Tortilla, which she loves and adores and likes to wrap many, many sorts of things in.)
Famished by the ordeal, she tucked into her refreshment with appetite to fit a bear! And while she ate, who should step through the door but Amanda of Brunswick...
(That's my friend Amanda. She sings alto with me in the Chorus. No. She sings alto in the Chorus. I kinda try to sing. Sort of. But compared to her, I croak.)
...who had also braved the elements that blustery afternoon! After a fair meal and much fine conversation -- after they had warmed and thawed and prepared themselves again to meet the blizzard's onslaught -- brave Arwyn and Amanda forged their way toward the great castle in the distance...
(That would be the big fort at the end of Maine Street.)
...that guarded the frozen waterway, the mighty Androscoggin...
(There's a dam on the river there, at least. But the water's frozen. Like, frozen in a waterfall over the dam. So pretty!)
...that shimmered and danced beneath the cover of ice. But could they see it? No. The snow shielded that fair water from their eyes.
At the castle's entry, a knight, valiant for courage and strength, blocked their way. "Two questions I will pose to you," he called out in challenge, "And if you answer wise and fair,
I will allow you passage!"
Thus challenged, these brave and daring girls could not, would not stand down. "Ask!" they commanded, and the knight proceeded:
"First! Does not the wind blow heavy against you, and the snow obscure your sight?
"And second! Do you possess amongst yourselves the ways and means of fire?
(Right. Which, in layman's terms, mean: "Nasty weather, isn't it?" and "Got a light?")
These questions the girls answered honestly and forthright, for they were no great challenge -- no great challenge to those who had overcome the storm, overcome the rage of old Father Frost!
Into the castle, then, and up the many-tiered staircase, and to the fourth floor, and swiftly, and swiftly, and swiftly to the end of the long, long hallway--
--and thence?
Into the salon!
"Off with their hair!" cried the scissor-handed women there. "Off with their braids and their pony-tails! Off, off with it!"
And the girl named Arwyn sat in the chair, and humbly submitted to the ministrations of the woman with scissors...
(And endured "small talk". I'm horrible at "small talk." Especially with people I don't know. But the lady was cool, and seemed to be having fun with my hair, at least).
...and in the end, long braids were collected, placed into bags, and sent with a messenger upon a swift horse to a place where they are needed more.
And this is the story of how a girl named Arwyn procrastinated away her Thursday afternoon.
The End.
(Wanna see? Here and here.)
