Unproductive

I've fallen into a pattern in my days that's really unproductive.

I get up late, because I stayed up too late the night before. Sometimes I'm mildly hung over. That is to say, I'm not badly hung over—not to the point where my head hurts and my mouth feels foul and living is unpleasant. No, not at all. Nothing like that. Just to the point where I'm sluggish, and unimaginative, and uninspired … just to the point where I can't quite muster the gumption to do anything more ambitious that to doomscroll* Twitter.

I drink coffee, but it doesn't help. I eat, but it doesn't help. Some days I nap, but it doesn't really help. I never leave my apartment except maybe, occasionally, to check my mailbox or go buy groceries. (Gosh, with all this activity I wouldn't want to miss a meal!)

Then finally, somewhere between 5:00 and 8:00 pm, I make dinner. Once I have dinner, I let myself have a drink. Or two. Or four, or six. (Or more, but only rarely and who's counting?) 

And then suddenly I have energy and endurance.** Then I don't want to go to bed. I might spend more time doomscrolling Twitter (though with renewed energy and engagement) or I might decide to post to this blog. Like I'm doing right now, at 1:15 in the morning. (Forgive me: by the time I actually post this it will be closer to 2:00.)

Of course that means that by the time I go to bed, I'm going to have to sleep late if I want to get any sleep at all. And the cycle repeats.

If I really wanted to take control of my life, … gosh, what would I do? 

• I'd delete my Twitter account. 
• And pour down the drain all the alcohol I have in the apartment. 
• And set up some kind of accountability program, to make sure that I exercise regularly at the gym. 
• I'd spend scheduled blocks of time writing the things that I have to publish every week … to say nothing of all the random thoughts that I've always said I would write up "if I only had the time," or all the posts I have already promised for this blog.*** 
• I'd visit Mother way more often, to make sure she is well.

There is literally not a snowball's chance in Hell that I will ever do any of this. Sloth and failure and drinking are a lot easier. But, … you know, … there's always an option. 

P.S.: If you see a connection with this post, dating from three weeks after my return from Scotland … well, … you're not wrong.**** 

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* I love the word "doomscroll," but there seems to be some disagreement about its definition. Wikipedia restricts the meaning to "spending an excessive amount of time reading … negative news online," and sometimes I skip past certain categories of negative news in order to focus on something more bland. Does that mean I need a different word? Maybe, but wait a minute. 

The Urban Dictionary gives multiple meanings, but some of them are more generous than Wikipedia's: they include (among others) "When you start scrolling and just can’t stop. You’re doomed cuz you can’t stop yourself," and "Doom is the attitude of the person scrolling. It could be cat videos, but the person is scrolling because they are incapable of doing otherwise, and the only happiness they are capable of is in refreshing their newsfeed." Aha! Yes, that's it! These latter two definitions absolutely capture the sense in which I mean the word. 

** So in that case should I start drinking in the morning, to get the energy for the day? Probably not. Marie tells me her mother used to drink in the morning, and it was never the harbinger of a productive day.   

*** A few days ago, for example, I finished the narrative about Paris, up to Day 14 when we came home. I have a number of other "think-pieces" to write about Paris—I'm not sure how many, but perhaps as many as ten—but I haven't written any of them yet. Soon, I hope. Of course, when I write them I will schedule them for November right after our return. So it may be hard to tell when I actually got around to applying my fingers to the damned keyboard.  

**** At this point it is about four-and-a-half weeks since I got back from Paris. At the equivalent point since my return from Scotland, I was somewhere around the time of this post and not really done with my self-imposed quagmire yet.