On Procrastination

Hi, I'm Gypsy. . . and I am a procrastinator.

( HI GYPSY) <-------- imaginary readers saying "hi" back...as I'm sure if anyone was reading this, they have long since stopped - since I am a procrastinator and haven't posted in umpteen days. ( that- my friends- was a very long run-on  sentence, which I am notorious for - but hate none- the-less).

Since my last entry here I have had drama every day. Nice - considering I have explained to every person in my life who causes me drama that the doctors say drama isn't good for me. But - as usual no one listens to me and drama comes ten fold no matter the results to my poor declining health.

But that's not what I came here to write about. I came here to write about procrastination. . . of which I am a master.

The shrink wants me to write more about crappy memories that I need to get out of my head so as to live a happy-clutter-in-the-head- free life. But because it is so hard to dredge up some of them...I have procrastinated to the point of making myself a worried mess. It's sort of like when you know you need latex gloves, a fog mask and tongs to open the stinky dark barrels of garbage to empty it. You know it's going to smell bad, you know it's going to make your eyes water and make you cry - you know it's going to suck...but it's got to be emptied no matter how awful the task. So - I am donning my fog mask and gloves - grabbing the tongs and reaching down into the depths of the trash. Heaven help me when I see what I pull out. I know it's going to stink.

Maybe I'll wait just one more day.

Or two...

Or....

( yep...my name is Gypsy and I'm a procrastinator)