I have NOT been very productive lately–a making deals and getting paid kind of productive; an expensive haircut/complicated shoes kind of productive; a get off my ass and do something kind of productive. In fact, I rarely venture out of my apartment, let alone my neighborhood. Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe it’s my general malaise. One thing I know for sure is that two creative types with a predisposition for light depression (brought on by extensive introspection) sharing a two-room space can be a recipe for disaster. We feel guilty about our wasted or unrewarding days spent pondering and planning… We feel guilty for sleeping past 7AM (well, not me so much–I slept until 10 today)… Why?
As I minimize the multiple Word document windows with beginnings of stories and essays and even blog posts that clutter my computer screen…I think to myself (while simultaneously scanning my instant-play Netflix queue) what am I doing with my life? I’m done. I’m done feeling guilty for spending an afternoon watching Woody Allen films or reading random chapters from a growing pile of books I’ve been meaning to plow through. The day is mine and I will not rate it’s success by the standards of New York’s thirty-something over-achievers. Or ANY standards for that matter. Give me my pajamas! Give me my Mango Jerky! Give me my homemade Soda Club seltzer water! The day is MINE and I will make of it what I will! or what I want! or I won’t. (was Dr. Seuss crazy? does anyone know how it started? like this?)
YIKES. I comfort myself (and my dear, concerned loved ones) with the notion that this funk, be it weather related or otherwise, will pass. I will emerge…eventually.
The day is yours, make of it what you want. or don’t.