Maybe I am the only one in this world. Or maybe I am not any different than any other person in this world but why is it that my happiness is a direct function of my productivity and yet procrastination finds its way to smother me. Am I a masochist? I do not think so but sometimes when I am inflicting pain on myself with no idea as to why I am doing so, the thought creeps in.
Today was a great day! I worked. Yes, that gives me happiness. The pure joy of finishing things. The unbounded feeling of seeing a finish. Completion (or death or ending) is one of the most inbred experiences. The feeling comes from within and is truer than any other feeling that a person might feel. It has a certain finality to it and whether it is a positive feeling when you finish your task or finish reading a book (in one sitting… *wink wink*) or it is a torture of going through death, the feeling is raw and unadulterated. And yet, why can’t I simply do this more often and enjoy the feels.
Why is procrastination, the big blerch (see-theoatmeal.com), always winning despite anything and everything of happiness lying on the other side of the bridge. The mind knows it, the heart knows it and the body knows it as well. Yet, when it comes to actually creating the perfect trifecta, the blerch simply shits on everything, eats and remains merry and happy on the pile of my sorrow.
Why is there a constant fight between what I want, desire and wish and simply be comfortable where I am?
This is not a sad tale however. This is a tale of me learning the importance of self-discipline.
As much as Procrastination might be powerful, what I want matters far more than what I can settle for.
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