Priorities, Shmiorities

You know what I should be doing right now? I should be dressed and going to Home Depot to get myself some white tile, so I can get my dining room table done. I should be vacuuming my carpet or doing laundry. I should be making some lunch. I should be showering. I should be exercising. I should be doing anything but sitting in front of this computer.

Yet here I am, attempting to find some of the sites I had bookmarked and re-enter some of the email addresses I had in my address book and change all the preferences I had on my browser before the hard drive crash. I didn't lose any of my journal at all, but I lost everything as far as my Internet settings go. My bookmark file looks all nice and neat now, because the crash has forced me to clean everything up and organize it, but I lost some links that are going to be a pain in my ass to find again. That's why I'm sitting here, still in my pajamas, obsessing over all this. I'm disgusting.

I don't doubt I'll get the table started today. I really love doing that sort of thing, and I'm sick of looking at the exposed chipboard that resided underneath the old tile. It would be nice to have that half of the table back in the usable category as well. I meant to write a nice bit about my table project, but every time I start, I get interrupted. Then I didn't feel like writing about it for a while. I have pictures and everything, so maybe when I finally get the whole thing done, I'll write about it. Or maybe I'll get a wild hair and write about it sooner. Maybe I'll write about it in an attempt to avoid doing something more important, much like I'm doing right this minute.

I have trouble with priorities. I know what is more important to me, but I opt for instant gratification. I make all kinds of lame excuses as to why I'm doing whatever it is I'm doing instead of what I should be doing. Some of them sound pretty good, like saying I'm going to have to work on my browser and email settings eventually anyway, so why not do it now? But the fact remains that there are other things far more important to do. I'm not as behind as I have been on my to-do list, but I am behind, and I'm not helping myself. I seem to like the shadow cast on me by that big, black 8-ball.

This is my recurring life theme. It is the challenge set forth to me. It is my calling. I wasn't put on this earth for such lofty goals as helping the needy or curing cancer or even finishing college. I was put here to learn what it is to have a sense of responsibility and be more organized. My mission in life is to pull myself out of the ranks of pathetic loserdom.

I hope I don't sound too serious. Sarcasm is so difficult to convey in print, and since I'm 90% sarcasm, that can be a problem. I get in all kinds of trouble in email, and in the old chat days, for saying things that don't translate well. I end up having to explain myself in painful detail, that makes my original statement just seem stupid. Humor does not survive translation very well.

My stupid brand of humor sometimes doesn't even survive well in person. I get lots of funny looks and sideways glances. I'm just not that funny to other people, but I keep myself amused. It's unfortunate others can't appreciate me the way I appreciate myself.

I'm usually funny in all the ways I don't want to be. It's that old ignorant problem I have. I am funny more often than not because I can be made fun of, not because I'm trying to be funny. I guess the comedian is a person who laughs too. That's just so hard sometimes when you think you're doing something right or just don't know better and then get called on it. I mean, how was I supposed to know blue eyeliner was out? But really, I've never been exactly hip and cool. I tend to say stupid things or not know the right information. That's my weakness that has a big Make Fun of Me! banner on it.

That's another reason I need to get my life in order. It's a whole lot easier for people to make fun of you when you don't have your shit together. Since my shit is scattered all over the place, I have a real problem. So it's time I get out the pooper-scooper and clean up my life. Like I don't have enough dog shit in my yard to clean up as it is.

And in case you were thinking I'm feeling all sorry for myself, I'm not. Hence the dog shit comment. See how unfunny it is when you have to explain your funny? I really shouldn't try.