Well, a week into my summer holidays, and typically, I'm ill - some kind of ghastly sore throat - blocked nose- generally crappy feeling type of thing. Apart from painting a wall, sorting out my rampant tomato plants, one visit to the museums in Oxford and doing some pottering of the domestic variety, I've managed absolutely bugger all. And, to be perfectly honest, I'm totally hating it.
As I've grown older, I've realised that I only ever really enjoy myself when I'm busy doing something. I'm simply no good at loafing. Well, actually that's not true - I would be an Olympic champion at the art of avoiding doing stuff if a) loafing were to be recognised as an Olympic Sport and b) if I could be arsed to participate. Over the years, I have procrastinated, avoided, shirked, lurked, malingered, dithered, hithered and thithered, and all for no good reason, although I have been adept at thinking up ones to tell myself: that if I go down such-and-such a route, then I'll be cutting off a possible opportunity in another direction; that by focusing on one thing only, I'll be denying myself the ability to see the bigger picture; that THIS THING needs doing NOW, but this can wait for tomorrow; And so on, and so forth.
Of course, I'm hardly the first person to complain of this, nor will I be the last. The trouble I have is my immense capacity to be distracted. I could write myself out a to-do list each day, but that feels way too anally retentive and nerdy. I keep seeking ways to tie up the loose ends of my life, but of course they appear as quickly as they can be resolved. And while looking round for ways to resolve them, I waste more time, I dither more, and the looser the threads become.