Think

I think a lot. And if I could just convey the thoughts I think that are meant for this blog, I’d definitely post a lot more.

When I say I think a lot, I don’t mean I think deeply, profoundly interesting thoughts. Just that I think. I notice and observe and record (by which I don’t mean I actually make a record – photographic, written, etc) which someone else could later retrieve, just that it’s something a bit more than, “Aha! Leaves on trees!”(*) although sometimes, that is all it is. Told you, profound I am.

There’s always a conversation inside my head. Sometimes the conversation is just with me; sometimes it’s with friends; sometimes it’s with this blog. I’m not always good at remembering whether I had a conversation inside my head with my friends as I perceive them, or whether I had a conversation outside my head, involving my vocal chords, with my friends in corporeal form. These things, they’re but minor details.

What goes on inside your head? Do you have a running commentary as you go about your daily life? Is it musical? It is full of images? Is it colourful? Does it make sense? If someone were to say to you, like they often do to me but they rarely mean it: What are you thinking? do you ever actually tell them? I do. (Well, when I’m asked by someone who either (a) deserves to hear my thoughts; and/or (b) who won’t think less of me despite what I tell them, then I go right ahead and tell them. And isn’t it disappointing when you’ve rambled on about what you were thinking about and then turn the question back upon them and they say, “Oh, not much.” I want to shake the person. I ask because I do want to know, and your trivialities actually do intrigue me. Tell me! Tell me!)

And why is it that telling a thought takes longer than thinking a thought, even though, if you are like me, most of your thoughts are in words.  I’ve already formed sentences while thinking, so why is that when I speak my thoughts, it takes so much longer; and why must my mind continue flying away with other thoughts, so my tongue trips over itself?

Sometimes, I think I would like to diagram my chain of thoughts. Things kind of just bounce around inside my mind, like the groovy and rather silly Japanese computer game, katamari damacy, where you roll along collecting objects becoming bigger and bigger until you’re the size of a planet. Of course, if you try to collect something too big, when you’re not big enough to have the right amount of gravity so that the item adheres to your increasing girth, then you fall apart. I think katamari damacy is an excellent depiction of the way my mind, in repose, works.

(* I’ve been thinking this a lot, lately.  It’s spring, see, and the leaves are coming back.  Or rather, they’re sprouting fresh leaves, pale yet somehow bright green, looking a little shocked to emerge into bright sunshine, a little nervous, like they need sunglasses.  Spring in Melbourne, Australia is not as dramatic as Spring in the UK, but it is, nevertheless, wonderful.  Although I feel the temperatures are not that different to a week ago, plants and birds and animals, knowing better than me, have started to become more lively.  Even my worm farm worms wriggle much more violently when I disturb them to enquire after their health. <- They’re doing wonderfully, thanks for asking.)

Maybe I’ll Stop Procrastinating Next Week

Last year, when I finally worked up the courage to ask my boss (or rather got sick of thinking about doing do so and decided I just had to do it because the worst outcome would be he would say no and then I would have to come up with something else to get obsessed about or think more seriously about resigning) if I could work a four-day week, rather than a five day week, I thought that I would spend my Fridays off in blissful creative mood – writing, making things (travel scrap book, cards, decoupage, etc) – and/or personal development jives – reading more legal theory (I miss it, I really do), teaching myself to read/write and speak better Viet, refreshen my Latin, learn a new language.

Instead, of a Friday morning I procrastinate.  First, I check my email.  Then I check Google Reader (actually, I check email and Google Reader simultaneously because igoogle* is great like that).  Then I check Facebook.  Then I check anything else at all really, based on what has spun me off in that direction.  (This morning, if you’re curious, I checked new judgments on the High Court of Australia website*, because I was sent there by a Tweet* by Galaxy* (whom I follow) who was responding to a Tweet* by TimSterne* (whom I don’t follow).)  Then I got a cup of tea.  Now, with cup of tea beside me, I am writing this blog post.

It occurred to me that if I can persuade myself that on Mondays to Thursdays I am procrastinating from writing or other creative junkets, onFriday I might actually knuckle down and do what Fridays were originally slated for (although they are also slated for long weekends away, because my partner gets more generous holiday entitlement than me).

Usually on Mondays through to Thursdays I think about all the things I want to do on Fridays.  Then on Fridays, I wake up and think, I want to sleep more.  I want to cycle around the world.  I should call my parents.  I should clean the house.  Gee the oven hasn’t been scrubbed out in ages.  How long will I need to cycle round the world? The worst part is: I think about work.

So what I need to do on Monday is think, Today I will write and then I will probably want to work to procrastinate from that.  And at some point I can think oh, I’ll do it tomorrow and if I can keep that up for four days, I will be feeling so guilty by the time Friday rolls around that I will do creative stuff and not other procrastinatory stuff.

Yes, tricking oneself really does work.  Not.

Or I need to implement a punishment and reward system, like I had back when I was a student.  Sadly, I think I am more motivated by the stick of punishment rather than the carrot of reward.  As a student, I could say Um is making banh xeo this weekend and unless I finish the first draft of this essay, I will have to call her and tell her I can’t come over.  The fear of my parents being unhappy that I did not visit them enough and the fact that I would not get to eat banh xeo would mean I had motivation to finish that first draft, and sometimes even a second draft.

*I’m not doing any links in this post because I’m trying to just write this as my short bit of procrastination and then get down to doing some creative writing.

On My Own

I’m back to writing on my own again.

The second writing group I joined has now disintegrated. Perhaps this means I will feel freer to write about the people in the writing group. Usually, I came away from writing group with the urge to write about my fellow writing groupies, but am restrained by a combination of niceness and fear; fear that they may come to this blog and read my mean thoughts about them.

They are all very nice people; they are just full of neuroses or loneliness or, in the case of one incandescent individual, complete madness (seriously, he was involuntarily admitted to psychiatric hospital).

As I am, I suppose (full of neuroses and/or loneliness). Although I’m pretty sure I’m not certifiable.