Perfecting Procrastination

What I have done in the past 48 hours, working backwards starting at one minute ago:
1. Finished a cup of vanilla ice cream.
2. Strolled to post office to mail a bunch of wedding thank you's.
3. Read slow-news-day stories on the interweb, clicking on neverending array of links on Twitter.

See a pattern? Yes. I am procrastinating, emphasis on the "pro" because I am that good at it.

Continuing backwards....
4. Fell asleep watching True Blood.
5. Called Isaac and asked him to meet me in the park for nighttime linger because I couldn't come home to face my office. He brought bevvies! Then we talked about our phone woes and got into a tiff and biked home (boo).
6. Pottery class. Aimless maneuvering of balls of clay as I sat there with no agenda for 3 hours. Pretty nice, actually, to have no agenda except that the stuff I made is pretty darn ugly.
7. God help me, more Twitter.
8. Inner-voice complaining to myself about an assignment that's just becoming a big pile of brain-garbage. Mounting interviews, no story.

What can I do next?

Sick Afternoon

I'm sick and I've camped on our couch all day. This morning, my industrious husband left to go to work (on a Sunday!) and I cried, "You're leaving?!" in a voice high enough to sound like helium. Give me a little cold (thanks, Katie!) and I become a petit bebe.

He made me soup, which I helium-cried for, and I've just finished it at 5 pm. On the table in front of me: many snotty tissues, Vitamin C that I haven't touched and the empty soup bowl plus half a chocolate bar. I am disgusting.

I often muse aloud that I wish I could get sick (I am normally so healthy it hurts) because it's an enforced time-out. Truth is, when you're left to your own devices and your head hurts too much to concentrate on actual work, you will find out who you really are.

I just spent all afternoon watching SYTYCD (research for a story I'm writing - no really), Intervention (back-to-back-to-back) and Googled daggering stories ("broken penis" "sky daggering" "daggering injury") after watching a Major Lazer video and swinging from love to hate to love/hate and then to just plain headache territory (my overall, bigger-picture verdict: Jamaica, you can't ban ideas, so why bother banning songs that mention daggering? Is it just that injuries are up? The way I see it is that if you jump on a girl from an elevated surface, maybe you deserve a broken willy).

More thoughts, since I have spent hours just gazing in to space, thinking about it: Daggering is exactly what the rest of the world looks to Jamaica for, the kind of raw, sexy and dangerous art that comes out of truly impoverished ghettoes, the kind of art that somehow defies hunger and logic. Also, you feel like a prig for being having a concerned reaction, a quiet "NO!" when you see sky daggering but really, miming closed-fist punching at :48? No thanks. I don't care how funny and hipster Eric and Diplo are - having a sense of humour doesn't need to include beating a lady in the face.

In conclusion, if you don't move all day and surround yourself with PVR and internet hook-up, you will see how you truly like to fill your headspace. I am retreating into a weird place that is a combo of inner world and everything-at-my-fingertips. That's Google for you. I may as well be high. No wonder randomness is the most defining aspect of our generation.

If you'll excuse me, I PVR'ed Caddyshack and I've never seen it. So now you know how I will spend the next few hours until my husband comes home to find me passed out on the couch, at which point I'll be able to baby-whine for more desired food items. A toute a l'heure, mes amis.

Canoe Camping - I Think I Like It

What I don't like about camping:

1. The moment when you've lost all your good humour about a torrential downpour. Your bags are soaked, your own body is soaked, the fire pit is soaked, everyone's scrambling to put up some tarps while you just kind of stand there useless, trying to help. The moment of truth: when you are desperately trying to race against the rain and tie some knots to hoist a few tarps in the trees and realize you're so cold that your fingers are numb and it's a long weekend in July. Foomp. The feeling: deflated. Especially when you realize you must inflate your sleeping mats and put up your tent and do all that stuff. And the rain just continues to pour.
2. Your first venture to the "toilet": a wooden crate down the path from where the tents are pitched. Just right out there in the open expanse. The crate has a lid. When you lift it and sit on it, as mosquitos have a True Blood party on your pathetically exposed posterior, you can see canoes float by. Ostensibly, they can see you, too. All of a sudden you totally don't have to go anymore. It's like magic.
3. Mosquitoes. I am a giant, ice cream sundae with hot fudge, nuts and whipped cream, and mosquitoes are one, giant, amorphous, buzzing fat kid.

What I liked about camping:

1. The smell. The scent of real pine makes breathing so fun. It's a wonder I didn't hyperventilate although I did often do some drama-queen exaggerated breathing when I was wandering on the trail by myself.
2. Clear water. I don't like seaweed or sharp rocks or algae but the water in Killarney Lake was so unbelievably clear that we could see all the way down to the depths, right to the bottom. It was practically tropical, except that it was frickin freezing (depending on the lake - George Lake was very warm, which is creepy in a way).
3. Isaac has taught me that nature is clean. I know that sounds like a very basic lesson, but I always thought "dirt" was dirty and was a fairly prissy kid about being very clean. However, Isaac loves to roll around in grass and put his hands in the muck whereas I just kind of go, "Ew." But now I get it. There's really nothing cleaner than nature, even when we're talking about dirt. Does that make sense? It does after a weekend of living in the same clothes, no showers, no fancy potions, but plenty of dips in the lake. Hmm. I think I do need fancy potions. I am super zitty right now. Well, it was worth it.
4. Being unplugged. I realized that I never, never, never am entirely unplugged. It felt great to leave my berry and keys in the car and just live out of a canoe for 3 days. It was as restorative as 3 weeks. It's really the absence of ringing and pinging and messaging. That's what makes everything else melt away.

So uh, 3 dislikes versus 4 likes. Camping wins!