Cart...Meet Horse's Ass

Doing stuff you don't want to do. An integral part of the human experience. My knickers are in a knot about this freelance project I have to do. It's writing for a major mountain real estate developer (Expansive views! Well-appointed suites!).

The project is between 20 and 45 hours of work, which by my estimation, equals a lot of money. Like, if I worked my ass off for four days, I could take a month off. At least. I could take a month off and eat scallops every three to five days. Or drink nothing but Caffe Artigiano lattes. Size large. Or get weekly pedicures and possibly even weekly massages. Or maybe all of that. You see what I'm saying. Good. Money.

But. I'm rocking the resistance right now. Big time. I wanna take my marbles and go home. Why? Because I don't want to write about 360-degree mountain views. I want to be a famous screenwriter.

So, Melanie. Are you working on your screenplay while you're procrastinating on this project?
Well, no. I'm looking up literary agents.
But your script isn't done.
I know.
So, how can you get an agent if you don't have a screenplay?
Shove it, Killjoy.

You see where I'm at. I'm in fantasy retard land. I'm sorry if that isn't a very PC thing to say. But as a retard, I am allowed to call myself one. That's how it works.

I'm poring over agents' web sites and submissions guidelines. I'm watching the clock move closer and closer to a quarter past Get Some Fucking Work Done Jones. I'm considering that Mount Everest of chocolate again. And I'm not writing. I am actively, verbtastically, full-frontally, kick-assily NOT writing.

And that is bloody lame. But not entirely uncommon methinks. If doing stuff we don't want to do is part of the Human Experience, then dread, avoidance and eye-gouging are all part of the Doing Stuff I Don't Wanna Do Experience.

My friend Life Coach Cathy would tell me that this, this right here, is my life. And my life is my responsibility. So if I want to have what the kids are calling a 'good life' then I must make this moment right here good.

She'd say delicious. Make it delicious. She'd tell me to make a giant cup of tea. She'd tell me to wrassle up a few Simple Pleasures Spice Snaps (Low fat! Great taste!) and light the fire. She'd tell me to enjoy it. To relish every moment. And to be grateful for the fact that I have this project that is earning me lots of money and buying me time to focus on my creative work. Hello? A month of overdosing on scallops, lattes and nail polish? Sounds pretty sweet, no?

Actually, I don't really know if she'd say all that. She's kind of become my inner life coach. She's inhabited my brain with things that I can't for the life of me un-know. Like to treat myself kindly in both word and action. (The retard comment wouldn't wash with my Inner Cathy.)

And so, I (and all of you out there in Don't-Wannasville, which incidentally, is next door to Fantasy Retard Land) must keep my eyes on the prize. Which is this here Present Moment.

And the fantasy of a mountain of buttery pan-seared scallops. Covered in chocolate sauce. And male models. And showgirls. With a cherry on top.