Looks like I picked the wrong week to give up procrastination. (Should've done it last week, I guess.) The indolence and sloth that serve me so well most of the time have let me down in my time of need. I'm just not very good at pushing myself this hard. I'm slow like the tortoise, but not as determined. I'm lazy like the hare, but not as quick. Aesop would have a hard time finding a positive moral in that fable.
It's not that I don't know what to do. It's not even that I don't get things done. It's more that my mind is telling me to keep going, and my body is rebelling.
Now it's almost funny to remember how long I've looked forward to moving. I've been ready to get into a more comfortable place for years, but over those years I've settled deeply into this quaint old burrow of mine. The roots are strong, and it's taking more energy than I thought it would to pull up and replant.
Here's my day: I get up determined to get through the work in my in basket. I figure that if I start at the top of the pile and work down, the day will be a success. Then my eye catches an empty box, and some bric-a-brac or knick-knacks that need to be packed away in that box. Right now. I start on that job, then remember the report I'd just started working on and go back to that. I go back and forth like that all day, until I have several projects half done, and several others done half-assedly.
Meanwhile, I have to stop every couple of hours to ice my back. My legs keep getting heavier, and a box I could lift yesterday I have to push from room to room on my hands and knees today.
My hands are a disaster. I have bruises and scratches and cuts at every joint. Every knuckle is bloody and every cuticle is raw. And everything I try to do seems to aggravate the situation. I've handled more cardboard in the last week than I have since I gave up retail, and I'd forgotten how hard it is to avoid mangling your fingers with paper cuts. Or I'll be putting a heavy carton in the back seat of the car and pinch my pinky against the plastic seatbelt latch.
I could use a break, but that's not going to happen. I can't stop myself. I can't just sit and watch TV without yanking myself out of the chair after a few minutes. It might look as if I've been struck by a sudden inspiration, but it's just the nagging feeling that nothing will get done if I don't try to do everything, right now. Everything's always "right now."
If I were better organized, or more determined, or if I didn't seem to be breaking down physically, I could be at a plateau by now. I could be at a place where I can say, "I've done all I can to get ready for the move Sunday. Bring it on." But my brain won't let me think that way, so I keep moving.
Surely if I put all this effort into a project, the rewards will be worth the pain. Surely that's a light I see flickering at the end of this long, dark tunnel. Surely I don't really have bric-a-brac and knick-knacks.