How to procrastinate like a boss

Some writers sit down every morning and commit to writing X-number of words that day. And then they do it.

Some of us have weeks like this instead.

Day 1.

Wake up feeling shit because new folks in airbnb next door had major domestic with much door-slamming the night before. They clearly would have carried on, but sight of me in jammies, madly ringing their doorbell at 2.30 in morning, obviously scared them shitless. They did not come down. And cold, northern-England air got into my bones and meant I couldn’t settle for another couple of hours, despite playing ‘sleep sounds’ on repeat.

As am fairly brain-dead, decide today’s job is to clear up desk so can start work on WIP first thing tomorrow. Get distracted by noticing attempts to root a spider plant seem to be birthing homunculus instead. Obviously have to photograph this and put it on Facebook ,to see which of my tribe have watched Small Prophets. Spend far too long looking at its little rooty legs.

Day 2.

Desk is still tip, but rummaging in last of packing boxes produces wall chart I made with WIP chapter breakdown on it. Have to re-jig most of office (which is office-come-utility-come-library-come-dumping ground) so I can stick it on wall. Am now shattered, so want to go out for breakfast.

But as I exit house I see small miracle – the sun is out and the rain has stopped. This is only second time that’s happened since I moved. Clearly I must make most of this. A walk up hill to join library? Good idea. Get brain pumping. Give me time to consider next scene. And there’s a great cafe where I can  load up on avocado and feta and really think.

Turns out hill is steeper than anticipated, and cafe is uber popular and noisy as a pre-school. So not much thinking – mostly ear-wigging other people’s conversations. Or dialogue research, as I prefer to call it.

On way home, take detour to check route to Lake. Get totally lost. Almost die climbing tiny hill because heart only used to nice flat Berkshire, and thinks it is being tortured. Then get caught in sudden and really unwelcome rain. Spend rest of day reassuring heart it can calm down now, and try to get bones to dry out.

Day 3.

Get a call from son saying grandson is covered in spots, so can’t go to nursery. Can I take him and look after him until his doctor’s appointment this arvo? Well yes, obviously. Have just moved from nice, warm, south of England to the freezing, sodden, north, just so I can have proper relationship with him.

I try to think about plot, but grandson sees my suicidally-shaped staircase as his own private Everest. I spend most of morning screaming, ‘hold nana’s hand,’ and then check step counter to see how many times I’ve climbed sodding stairs. 49. Impressive. Make big note to get stair-gate, ASAP.

Day 4.

Open laptop, open Google Docs, find WIP, read previous chapters, bring myself up to speed. Edit them as I go. Re-read. Realise need to put them all back the way they were. Interrupted by ring on doorbell as have forgotten chimney sweep is coming. Madly clear out fireplace. Think about getting back to chapters but realise I have zero food in the house, so make shopping list instead. Have nice discussion about chimneys with sweep.

Day 5.

Have some energy AND sun is shining. Remember resolution to get physically and mentally fitter by moving here. Know there is small lookout point nearby, so put on wellies and head for that. Despite Google maps, get lost again. Find nice lady in walking gear who gives directions. Start climbing up towards lookout point, and notice it looks a lot higher than the one I Googled. There are several ‘it’s-ok-you-can-lie-here-and-die’ benches lining route. Considerate, but not encouraging.

Scramble very, very slowly to top. Spectacular view completely ruined by mist, fog, and more fucking rainclouds. Realise wellies worst possible footwear for navigating down steep, wet, grassy slopes. As I stumble home, I pass sign to much shorter, less intensive lookout point.

Day 6.

Look at horrible untidy desk, and go and Google foreget-me-nots instead. Take pictures to tattoo parlour over road and arrange to get inked in couple of weeks.

Spend time on Facebook marketplace locating stuff that will hopefully ensure grandson doesn’t die next time he’s with me. Then remind myself I haven’t posted here for a gazillion years, so write this instead of WIP. Feel interesting mix of smug and guilty. Smilty?

Day 7.

Laundry and housework. Do…some of it.

Finally, make solemn promise I will tidy desk and get cracking on WIP – tomorrow.