The Procrastination Of Miserability

I know. Two posts in one week about happiness. How to find it. How to have it. How to keep it.  I’m sick to my stomach of it too. Regardless, here it goes…

There are bad moments that set you back a few hours and then there’s the miserable dugout. Swing batter batter, swing! The miserable dugout is a place where the miserable like to be benched. Yes, like a baseball dugout. Good job connecting the dots so quickly. I’m a positive person. Snarky as all hell but 99% of the time, a smiling force to be reckoned with. I won’t spend much time over-analyzing things beyond my control because… well, you can’t control everything. And I’m too lazy to bother. Or rather, I’ve just got better things to do with my fucking time. Such language. Yes, to drive the point home. It’s called passion.  If spending time obsessing over the “bad” things in life sound like something you can’t shake I’ve come up with some ideas to help you hop a ride on a pegacorn to cloud town!

 

 

THE PROCRASTINATION OF MISERABILITY

In 4 Easy Steps

1. The Proclomation Adaptation. Say it loud and say it proud; but don’t say it in public. You’ll just look crazy. Look in the mirror and say, “Self, You’re fucking spectacular!” Give a flip of the hair, toss on a great pair of heels and skidaddle out the door to soak up the day. EVerything is better if you get ready for your day. Even when I’m in my office-home-atorium all day, I shower, put on lip gloss and act like I’m ready to be amongst the living. No, nobody sees the lip gloss but me. But it’s pretty and I like it.

2. Bathtime Candelabra. I’m a bath girl. Showers always make me feel like I’m in a rush to be wet. It makes me anxious. So, like clockwork, I run a bath after my yoga workout (yes punk ass, I’m still strugging to keep that going), and light a candle or two (five, I light five) and casually suds up. It’s relaxing and I’m accomplishing, I don’t know, getting clean or soemthing. Sometimes I will pop open a book; but the last time I did that it fell from my hands and drowned.

3. Workout Weenie. I hate to say it but it’s true. Working out really does make you feel better. Weenie. Quiet. It releases endorphins throughout your body, clears your head, and gives you more energy. This step sounds like a lecture. Hush. Stop making excuses and just do it. You sure? I’m sensing… aggression? Pay attention. You won’t get motivated to workout until you take action and actually workout. Stop the lies! Sometimes I can barely muster the energy to yoga. I know, who’da thunk it? You’re just kickin it, in downward dog or some shit and even that’s too exhausting to roll yourself off the sofa. I hear a riddle happening. Yeah. But I found that since I added working out regularly to my schedule, as long as I just go through the motion of getting there, youtubing my session and stay committed to just five measely minutes… Before I know it, twenty minutes has passed! Which boosts my ego and makes me want to dress cute! And hey, on my off days, just turning on the television and putting on some booty short wearing bitch is all I can get through. And I’m proud of myself on those days too.

4. PROCRASTINATE! Last but not least, procrastinate! Procrastinate the urge to be unhappy like we procrastinate doing the laundry! Oh, laundry stinks. Or the dishes! Blah, even worse. Give a middle finger salute to the meloncholy fairy (oh my). Tell that winged nut job that you’ll get to her later, and you just received a phone call emergency to chase butterflies. Hello? Oh I have butterflies to chase? Hey, winged nut job? I gotta go. Have you seen my pegacorn? Let yourself put off the heavy heart nonsense for another day and you’re likely to find you forgot about what was lurking to ruin your day to begin with. Hmm.. now where did I put that? Oh well, must not have been important.  This will be the one place in your life where procrastination can actually be beneficial!

The moral of the story is, I absorb energy. What you say? Listen, we all do. Which sounds a little bonkers; but, seriously, bad attitudes are contagious! And I dont need the flu. Ever notice when you’re in a group of people and there always that one person that starts the gravy train of sadness, making everyone a passenger ready to leave the station? Choo! Choo! All aboard to sappy town! Said partygoers will either get on that tear-dropping bandwagon or look for the nearest exit and grab a parachute. Or jump at 30, 000 feet without one. Belly flopping onto the earth is probably less paintful anyway. It’s one thing to make a sarcastic comment, illicit some laughter and change subjects; it’s surely another to drag down the rest of the boaters with the anchor of sorrow.  I find it best to pretend my phone rang and make a leap for the cocktail shrimp. Besides, I don’t want their gloom decending upon my appetizer. It would rreally ruin the whole thing. It’s cold shrimp! With cocktail sauce! Nobody sees the joy here? Fine. I quit.

 

DISCLAIMER: Entertainment purposes only. Unless you accidentally drown your book in the bathtub. Which is really just a soppy mess when it’s all said and done. And difficult to read.