I'm exhausted following a weekend of full-on socialising. Not that I'm complaining, but social events are a bit like the 22a bus which goes past the bottom of our road. None for ages then several all at once.
As a result, today I don't feel like working at all. If I didn't have to, I'd be curled up on the sofa with Small Dog and either a good book or an old film on TV. Unfortunately that is not an option, so I've been scrutinising my 'to do' lists (Volume VII, sub-section XII) and trying to decide which of the most urgent tasks I should tackle.
It doesn't help that the rain is beating down outside and the workroom feels like the Black Hole of Calcutta, even with ALL the lights on, including my SAD light pod. I was hoping to crack on with some photography today but the light (or rather lack of it) is too bad.
So, what to choose, out of the multitude of book-related tasks clamouring for my immediate attention?
Why, of course! Start something completely new which is going to require days of research and development, numerous false starts, endless charging down creative cul-de-sacs and inevitably fervently wishing I'd done something, ANYTHING, else.
This is a particularly self-defeating form of procrastination.
I am, without the shadow of a doubt, my own worst enemy.