You know how sometimes you have to do something but you don’t totally feel like doing it, so you don’t do it, and then you feel guilty about not doing it because it’s not, like, a hard thing to do, but then a few weeks go by and you’re like “I still haven’t done this thing,” and you wonder what’s wrong with you, and you feel like when you do the thing (because you will do it, of course you will, you can’t live with this guilt for the rest of your life) it’ll have to be exceptionally good in order to justify the length of time it’s taken you to do it, and so now you feel pressure that you weren’t feeling ten weeks ago or whenever you were supposed to have done the thing, and the pressure makes you sluggish and resentful, you didn’t want this pressure, this task wasn’t meant to have so much weight attached to it, but who added the weight? You. You added the weight by adding the time and avoiding the thing, and now it’s in your peripheral vision all day, you’re always faintly aware that you’re not doing this VERY SIMPLE THING that you could have done in like five minutes eight months ago, but no, you were “busy,” you had “things to do,” and at this point the thought of doing it feels as momentous as getting married, you have to do it perfectly, this one act must redeem you, your negligence, your lassitude, your indecision, and what’s weird is that you like doing it, it’s not something you have to do, it’s something you want to do, but for some perverse reason you’ve denied yourself the simple pleasure of doing it for more than a year, and then all at once you’re doing it, rashly, recklessly, whatever, no one cares, you’re telling yourself that you don’t care but you do, you want it to feel as sudden and wayward as a drunken apology, though it’s noon and you’re sober and in five minutes you have “something else to do,” so you have to stop, it will be what it will be, which is all you really wanted it to be?
That’s how it feels to write this post.