Procrastinaception, what?

I’m at that level where it’s hard to even call it procrastination anymore.

I have these little niggling things called Internal Assessments that are worth about 30% of my overall grade for year 12. They’re not really that fun. And it seems like I’ve gone to great lengths- extraordinary lengths- to avoid even starting them. I mean, you can go on facebook and YouTube for a while before you resort to playing on your iPod for hours on end but eventually you get bored of that as well.

I’ve hit that point where I’ve procrastinated so much I’m bored of not doing my work. I’m effectively procrastinating my procrastination. You’d think that once I’d get bored of casual internet browsing I would return to my studies... but you would be mistaken, my friend. It’s not an easy thing to admit and I am honestly ashamed, but from about 8:15 to 9:50 tonight I just sat staring at the blank screen of my laptop- not even my screensaver of dancing Chinese women.

It’s the thoughts that went through my head during this period that I’d like to briefly share right now- briefly because I was only able to actually start writing at about 11:15 and I’m tired and worn out from all my doing nothing. Okay so let’s go (I feel like this deserves an intro song or something to be honest)…

Brandon’s stream of consciousness in the 95-minute period of his Wednesday night where he stared at a blank screen! (Title could be catchier I must admit)

·      First came convincing myself that I was only taking a short break, only resting my eyes etc. I call this the ‘piss-poor excuses’ phase.

·      Next was the sudden and shocking realisation that my mind had got into this rut and that I was stuck- this is when I knew that I wasn’t going to be escaping this position for a while.

·      THE GUILT. This was arguably the most tormenting stage of my ordeal. It’s honestly quite painful to hate yourself so much for not doing something about your current situation and yet still not changing it. This is a stage that never really ended, to this moment.

·      After the guilt came a false sense of acceptance, where I was trying to once again convince myself a series of lies, fallacies and fairytales… “This is giving my mind a rest” “I wouldn’t be doing homework anyway” and so on, and so forth…

·      THE GUILT (again) Second time always hits harder

·      For some reason it was at this point where I began to think of the fictional citizens of an iPod game I discovered yesterday where you take control of a street and it’s businesses and tenants and try to expand it. I thought of the little pixelated men and woman in my pizza shop and hospital and whether any of them had to write an economics portfolio due in the next week. This thought was a mental vacation from the inevitable-

·      THE GUILT!!!!!

·      Now began the winding down stage of my ordeal; I began to muster up the mental strength to be able to pull myself out of the spiral, but not before getting furious at myself and calling myself such names as ‘fucking wank hobo slut’ and ‘useless pregnant dog cunt'. Creativity is a dangerous and pitiful tool when mixed with anger.

·      The anger turned to frustration and the frustration turned into hatred of others- this is when I knew I was getting back to normal.

·      My final thought as I summoned my muscles to physically snap out of my statuesque stupor was of nothing. It was as if in that one moment I had managed to subconsciously convince myself that the last one-and-a-half hours or so never happened.

But of course, they did happen. And when I remembered them again approximately seven seconds later THE GUILT was back and I almost cried.

In between 9.50 and 11.15 I opened up a word document, the one named after my assignment. I stared at the page but forced myself to type something, not letting myself snap back into the last 90 minutes of my life- that was never. to. happen. again. No, I forced myself. I put every ounce of mental power into this word document and typed.

*Approximately 85 minutes and zero facebook breaks later, I knew I had done all that I could.*

Tonight I wrote 159 words. It’s all I’ve done this entire week, but guess what?

I'm genuinely proud.

A dangerous combination; a dangerous combination

Ambition

“I think I want to change the world today.”

Vices

“I’m hungry.”

This is a story about how I combined the above two statements to create an experience that I simply can’t shake from my psyche. Frankly, I think it’s made me need counselling in the near future.

I was home alone.

Home alone is more than just something that happens when your parents fuck off to the shops; it is a state of mind. Home alone is when your creative spark kicks in, when no corner of the house is out of bounds. I was home alone and I was hungry. I was home alone and I was Jamie Oliver.

Changing the world isn’t too hard when you’re home alone. Your world is restricted to you and nobody else exists. I was prepared to change my world and consequently change the way I would view life forever.

I was home alone and I was hungry.

When your parents go shopping it is usually because you have hardly any food left in your house and this was no exception. My fridge was a cold barren wasteland (think Jane Lynch’s vagina). Apart from the odd neglected foodstuff (sushi ginger, apricot jam, broccolini) there was nothing as far as the eye could see. The Sahara Desert of refrigerators.

Luckily I could count on the single most loved food in any adolescent’s pantry.

Two-minute noodles.

But there was a problem. The only staple food I had in my cupboard was one eaten by near everyone in the world- how was I going to change the world with ramen? An extra packet of seasoning? I don’t think so. Also, I had just eaten a bowl of noodles an hour ago, flavouring sachet and all. But then it hit me. I had just eaten savoury noodles.

What I really craved was dessert.

Dessert.

Noodles.

Dessert noodles.

DESSERT noodles.

FUCKING DESSERT NOODLES.

In that moment I was Thomas Edison inventing the light bulb. I was Isaac Newton discovering the laws of motion. I was Regina George getting hit by a bus… a bus of enlightenment.

I cooked my two-minute noodles in the microwave for the five minutes the packet recommended as I assembled the ingredients that would help me achieve fame, fortune and inner peace in the next quarter of an hour.

The ingredients that changed the world:

·      8 squares of dark chocolate with almonds, chopped

·      1 packet of sesame snaps, coarsely crumbled

·      1 chocolate coated marshmallow Easter egg gone rock hard in the freezer, half heartedly chopped before the mission was aborted due to a broken knife

·      SpRiNkLeS~!~!~!

·      1 ounce (what’s an ounce) of caramel sauce

·      10 drops of vinegar that I added unintentionally thinking it was vanilla essence (i am aware that this is stupid)

·      11 drops of vanilla essence

·      2 scoops of homemade sesame ice cream (yes my family is fucked strange)

I pulled the bowl of noodles from the microwave sans some sort of hand protection, burning my palms (it’s alright- they were burns of triumph and determination). I drained the noodles and placed them in a bowl, before combining the ingredients - the ones that changed the world - with the noodles, using nothing more than my bare [somewhat washed] hands.

As the still burning hot noodles scalded my blistering hands and the chocolate and ice cream melted to create a gooey consistency between my fingers, I saw myself in third person. I saw my Eureka moment in an out of body experience, the culinary genius standing in place of my awkward self. I didn’t feel it happening but looking upon myself I saw the enormous grin that had formed on my glowing face, a crescent moon on the sky of opportunity.

The time had come. The tasting. The culmination of all my efforts of the past twelve or so minutes was here. I had anticipated this moment for what seemed like an eternity.

My equation was solved.

Ambition + Vices = Food Poisoning

The story ends here. I had not changed the world. I was still hungry. My parents came home forty minutes later to see me bent over the toilet throwing up brown ramen into the bowl. My ambition was genuine but I had succumbed to my vices.

Next time I want to change the world I’m having dinner first.

How I feel right now, also tacos

Two nights ago, I promised myself that tonight I would sit down and write something/anything. I honestly had nothing planned for this post but I knew deep down that the only way that I could write is if I forced myself to. Normally, this would be fine and I would be happily obliging with the of writing this post about whatever beautiful artistically emotionally traumatically significant experience I can best express in words… but there’s a slight problem:

I. Have. A. Headache.

I can sense that you’re calling me a little bitch as we speak so I’m going to give you a few facts about this headache.

FACT: This headache is one of those 'have it, go to sleep with it, wake up with it, and have it all the next day' headaches. Picture this: I’m a ten year old girl and this headache is following me in a white van, stalking me through every corner and every facet of my life as I try to run away from it’s gang-rape-of-the-brain.

FACT: In the stew of depression, regret and agony that is my mind right now, I actually thought it was a good idea to not only let my friends and I assault hit my head, but to bang it against a wall repeatedly to try and block out the headache. The consequences of my idea was 5 seconds of bliss, where the minor concussion made me forget where I was, and 23 minutes of me whimpering under my pillow as the pain returned 10fold shortly after.

FACT: In the last three hours I’ve taken four tablets of pain medicine and it has merely reduced my migraine into a low throb that I feel in my temple, as if someone inside was escaping the side of my head by breaking through my scalp with a baseball bat. But wait, there’s more!! This feeling has combined with the drowsiness effect the drugs so kindly blessed me with and placed me in the convenient position of being on the verge of sleep yet being unable to actually fall asleep because of the splitting pain. At this point of the pain cycle I would literally stab a penguin in the throat if it looked at me funny.

FACT: Three facts ago I described my headache as on par with gang rape of a ten-year-old girl... I don’t know why I bothered going on.

I could have very easily not written anything tonight, I could have taken the two extra pills to knock me out into a torturous overnight hibernation, but something wouldn’t sit right with me had I broken my own promise. I mean - you guys (does anyone even read this?) wouldn’t know that I promised myself to write tonight, but I would have known and wouldn’t have ever let myself forget. It is likely that I would - as a 40 year old man - be looking back into my past with regret from that time on the 25^th of February in 2012 where I said I would make a blog post but didn’t. Of course, by then I will have 9 cats and a complete and total loathing of life to get me through this horrible time. :D

Empty promises suck, as all empty things do. Empty fridges suck, because they are void of food. Empty glasses of water suck, because not even an optimist can see them in a positive light. Empty jars of vegemite suck, because they remind you of what vegemite tastes like.

Ever had an empty taco? Imagine, as you bite into a hard shell of solitary, lonely tortilla, your mouth being cut open by fragments of corn chip that slice your gums and tongue with brute un-cushioned force. Your salivary glands moan and beg for a hint of salsa… of meat… of guacamole… of anything... ANYTHING to stop the taste of marginally salted incompleteness from sliding down your oesophagus. It is quite simply a mastication massacre and you would literally kill for that one grated strand of cheese or that one drop of sauce. But, alas, the taco is empty because you broke that promise; you didn’t blog that humid late-February evening and it never stopped haunting you.

Effectively, by sitting here and typing this out right now, I’m having my tortilla AND eating it too… all toppings included.

And it tastes fucking great.

7 things I know about my life right now and you will too (soon)

1)   I’m insecure in the way that makes me want to gnaw at the heels of death because of stupid things [let me tell you a story; my friend and I were conversing and he asked me to look at my nails (I obliged) and when I did apparently I looked at my nails the “girl way”. It seems that men place their hands with palms facing upwards and curl back their nails while women (and myself) place their hands with palms facing down and fingers outstretched] Nevertheless I spent the rest of my day sulking about my lack of masculinity and waiting for my vagina to grow.

2)   My bed broke approximately 10 days [236 hours [14160 minutes [849600 seconds]]] ago and I have yet to fix it, meaning that I have slept on a peculiar downwards-and-to-the-side slope, the alignment of which has forced me to sleep with my head on the other side of the bed. Because I really have no time for such meager tasks, it took me approximately 6 days [almost a week] to move my pillows to the new side of the bed. And it’s true, my bed is still tilted and I have unashamedly no future plans to solve this conundrum regarding the gradient of the mattress on which I sleep. Thus is the moral of this little ditty. I don’t do anything. I am lazy.

3)   Everybody hates me [fact]! And yes I do have proof for this because I downloaded an application that lets me see how people respond to my friend requests on facebook and somebody from my primary school that I knew 5 years ago ignored my request (carry the one) leaving me with the conclusion that I am unfathomably, universally, despised. And no I’m not joking, this realisation prompted a wave of depression that ended with me trying to fix my problems via empty calories in the form of a milk and sprinkles concoction I like to call puregenius.

4)   Sometimes I like to think I’m an artist, like for example right now I’m drinking puregenius (cheers wave of depression) and the milk went pink and the sprinkles lost all their colours and I’m honestly more fascinated about this scientific breakthrough than anything else right now- this nobel-prize worthy porcelain cup full of skim milk and now opaque balls of sugar represents the extent of my artistic integrity and somehow I have no problem with this.

5)   I value sleep more than I value my artistic integrity (other things I value sleep more than: the nutritional value of breakfast! human life!! the suspicious mole on my foot that mayormaynotbe cancer!!!) {I really should stop with these bracketed side-notes} and therefore I have come to the conclusion that I shall end this deep psychoanalysis of the very depths of my inner self, two formulated facts short of the seven I promised. But it wouldn’t be fair to sell you short.

6)   I don’t do anything. I am lazy.

7)   My cat’s name is Cirmi, a Hungarian name meaning ‘I wish it dropped dead so I can buy a new kitten that actually loves me’.