Procrastination or divine inspiration?

It's funny how as soon as you're supposed to be doing something, everything else seems so much more alluring. Take today at work, for instance.

I'm working to a deadline so I can jet off to Norway on Saturday without worrying about coming back to a crisis next Thursday. There's plenty to be done, and I should be concentrating fully on the task at hand, especially given that we're already weeks behind schedule, largely due to my inability to pay attention to detail, or so it seems from my narrow view of what's going on in the project. But no. What did I spend a seriously large chunk of the day doing? Not work, that's for sure. Instead, I was doing useful things like reading career guidance on getting into publishing, what you have to do to become a literary agent, things that drive literary agents nuts when people make submissions to them. Anything and everything to do with getting a book published. Of course, I don't have a book finished and ready to publish. Several half finished works of genius are floating around out there, sure, but nothing nearly cohesive enough for me to even consider getting in touch with an agent. So I resolved once again to get back into writing more. That's been part of the blog writing, to be honest. It's not all about telling the world the sort of pathetic crap I fill my days with. At least some of my recent wordiness has been aimed at getting back into the habit of writing regularly. And it's kind of working.

Except for the fact that I'm sitting here writing a blog post now, when by rights I ought to be working on one of the aforementioned works of genius. Earlier tonight, when I should have been doing a sewing project that is generating me extra cash to tide me through the pay-cut crisis, I was merrily playing on a fiction forum reading the many comments of other people, reading excerpts and short stories, doing anything, basically, except sitting down at my sewing machine until it was getting to the point where I was at risk of not getting the job finished in time. It's done - the lure of money works that way when you're skint, unfortunately - but now I'm putting off something again. The writing lark was all well and good to distract me until I hit the point where I was supposed to be doing that. Oh well. Plenty of work hours to distract myself in tomorrow, I suppose.