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Where does the time go? One minute I'm fretting about not having enough to do, the next I'm buried under a mountain of repertoire because I simply can't stop saying no to people. Someday I'll figure out this whole work/life balance thing, but today is not that day. Knowing me, that will be the day I shuffle off this mortal coil, probably tidying up as I shuffle because I can't resist a multitask.

Suddenly half a year has gone by. "You'll write more," you tell yourself, greeting every day with a promise that "Today will be the day I start on that story/essay/novel" and every day the same ending, a promise unfulfilled.

Is it a lack of inspiration? Motivation? Failure to launch, arrested development, insert-your-choice-of-pithy-cliche-that-has-been-coopted-by-a-romcom-and-or-sitcom? My mind always circles back to that line from "Waking Life", my favorite film when I was an insufferable pseudo-intellectual teenager: "Which is the most universal human characteristic--fear, or laziness?"

In an early post from this blog, dated December 30, 2013 (almost nine years ago to the day), I wrote: "The week between Christmas and New Year's is one of my favorites. Nothing too pressing ever happens in that week. No one ever remembers what they did during that week." The last two sentences remain true. The first could not be more false.

I now find this week unbearable. We are in the dreaded doldrums where productivity is non-existent but you still need to be a somewhat functional human in society. You (and by you I mean "I") busy yourself with household tasks and mindless practicing just to keep the demons at bay, but everyone knows you'd rather be curled up in layers of blankets somewhere binging Emily in Paris even though you're no longer sure whether you're hate-watching or just straight up enjoying it.

But you remain vigilant. You take your dog on long morning walks, soaking up sunlight which is supposed to help your circadian rhythm, never mind the fact that you stay up until well past midnight doom-scrolling on Reddit, the blue light from your phone screen frying your bloodshot eyeballs and inhibiting your melatonin. You refrain from having your first cup of coffee until 90 minutes after you wake up. You stretch (not as much as you should.) You meditate, sometimes. You wonder if you should stop heeding the advice of the attractive neuroscientist/podcaster whom your husband mistrusts because, as he puts it, "No one can be that smart AND that in shape."

You keep repeating the mantra of "You don't rise to the level of your goals, you fall to the level of your systems" until semantic satiation kicks in and none of it means anything anymore. You think about the numerous projects kicking around in the waiting room of your consciousness, idly flipping through old Highlights magazines while they wait for you to get your act together.

You tell yourself you need to start journaling again. Where does the helpful coping mechanism begin and the productive procrastination end?

You open your laptop and log on to your blog page. You're about to find out.

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