Book Vegetables

I probably said this the last time I talked about procrastination. In fact, I probably say it constantly. But I'm going to say it again cos it's so annoying me at the moment: I don't procrastinate by cleaning the house instead of writing my book. I procrastinate in the craziest way possible.

I do it by writing other books. I've always done it that way. And I'm still doing it, even though I now recognise what a sneaky fooker my brain is being. I've caught my brain in the act, red-handed, but apparently my brain is pushing for a harsher sentence. It wants to be sentenced to life in brain prison, for its crimes against me.

And currently, that shit is driving me crazy. I have a deadline on May 15th. I want to hit certain wordcounts by certain times. But what is my brain forcing me to do instead? Have random crushes on Kevin Durand! Be unable to think about anything else! Not want to write anything but stories about his hunktastical glory!

Ugh my brain is a child. Or is it my vagina that's behaving like a child, in this scenario? I don't know but either way: my body is conspiring against me. And all because I found writing scene X almost unbearably hard and couldn't get it right and have momentarily forgotten how to try. It's maddening, because I've always been good at trying before.

It's why I had such an easy time at university. I didn't worry about deadlines. I'm a hard worker and I like limits and I'm able to push myself. But somehow all of that shit flies out the window when I'm midway through a book and bumping against a roadblock.

Suddenly its times for seventeen books about some random dude who caught my eye.

*sigh*

It's time to impose some rules. I have to get out the kiddie leash and rope my brain in, before it rampages again. No Kevin Durand dessert for you brain, until you've given me two chapters of vegetables.

AND I MEAN IT, THIS TIME.