Why things never get done, and perhaps why they never should

The panic suddenly sets in. Piles of duties unattended to, a severe lack of sleep and 8.30pm Thursday night. All day you’ve been deciding to sort everything out, all the small niggling, annoying fucking things that you know you should do but never get around to. Because the panic sets in.

Denial is a wonderful thing.

Walk upstairs, sit down.

Right, time to make a list of things to do and then just fucking do them, one by one until done and then forget about it all for another few months or so. Make a list! Fuck knows how many of those I’ve already made, and how many of those items are still unchecked!

Right, sort out bills first.

Spend five minutes thinking of how to approach it, then another five deciding whether I can be arsed. No! It has to be fucking done now!

Stand resolutely and begin to gather one unopened letter from each the utility companies I am aware that I am paying to. Going to call each one of them and sort out the balance over the phone. Bam! Done!

Sit back down, stare at the unopened envelopes. Have a cigarette, stare out the window for while and think about clouds.

Halfway through my cigarette I get another violent bout of to-do guilt and begin opening the first bill. To my surprise it’s recent (I got lucky rummaging through he 30cm high pile of unopened mail) and apparently a direct debit is already set up. One down, HOW MANY TO GO?!

Walk around the flat, staring at the shit building up around my feet. Watch BBC24 on mute for ten minutes, aimlessly strumming on an acoustic guitar. Decide to sort the rest of the bills as the reminders arrive, seeing as... Well... Whatever.

So what’s next on the list? Hmmm… do that later... and that one… can’t be arsed to load some washing, it’ll mean I’ll have to do some ironing later… clean what?? Do that one on Saturday…right…yeah ok… I’ll clean the kitchen!

As I begin preparing myself for the task ahead by staring out of the window thinking about trout farming, I’ve already accepted that I’ll do the dishes and wipe the work surface at the most, and I am strangely content with the decision.

Washing up is actually quite therapeutic, one of the few chores I enjoy. Must collect all dirty dishes from flat! Another ten minutes go by where I wander around the flat, occasionally remembering what I am doing and then thinking about why people live in northern Europe. Finally all the filthy crockery, glassware and miscellaneous items in need of washing have been collected and I’m off. Wash a couple of glasses. Turn the volume back up on the TV. Same shit on BBC24 as when I was busy sorting out the bills, so I have flick through. Nah…. Crap…boring…hey…Joan Hickson era Miss Marple…ahh shit it’s already begun…I wish I had Sky Sports…. Sky News?… too much cricket….

Decide to watch Channel 4 news and return to my chores. By the time I’ve finished washing everything up, I take a cigarette break and watch some telly. The cooking unit surface can wait until the weekend…so all I need is to wipe the surface of the kitchen unit! There! Job done, now I can relax.

Listen to music… Get distracted by pile of as of yet unopened mail still on table, plus a shitty list with only about 1.75 items checked. Well…0.75 more like…ahhh you know what? I can’t be arsed, I’ll fucking do it tomorrow.