Lack of Discipline Can Lead to Frightfully Long Coke Nails

by G.T.

My finger nails were long. Longer than they should be. What I’m saying is that all of them were coke-nail length. That means I haven’t typed on my lil’ laptop which I’ve so affectionate dubbed “Mon Petite Computeríte” for weeks now. What do my nails have to do with my cute, little typewriter? I don’t like the sound of my fingernails clicking against the cute, little keys of the keyboard, and that is my only encouragement to clip my finger nails. Otherwise, they make good use cutting open boxes and my neighbor’s mail (kidding, of course). I spent most of the afternoon contemplating each of the names on my Contacts List: those people who are owed poetry today. Rather than write poems, I clipped my finger nails and went to work on Mon Petite Computeríte. I have to write and instead opted for that other than another likely slough of “Who is this” replies. Tomorrow, people. Tomorrow.

To write requires self-discipline. This is fact, so don’t argue with me. God knows that nobody I know will grab me by my shirt collar and say, “Why the hell aren’t you writing?” or “You finna start writing or I’m gonna whoop your ass!” As nice as that would be at times, it doesn’t happen. I need to grab my own collar and threaten to whoop my own ass. Unfortunately, I don’t intimidate myself.

I’ve exhibited exceptional discipline with this poetry project until the past weekend, I believe it was, when I failed to post the day’s poetry due to a mundane social engagement. Worth it? Not really. And on Monday, I didn’t write any poems, so one could argue that I’m a day behind. Don’t worry, it’s all going to get done, and some upcoming contacts have me hella anxious for all sorts of reasons. Hella? Never used that slang term before. I’d say that I used it correctly.

Basically, I’m worried about neglecting other projects, the things in progress, under construction, and the to-be-announced stories and poetry that need to get chiseled up and sent out to the publishers that be. A lot of my stress lately has been due to not finishing much of anything. What have I been doing? Not what I should be doing. The things that I’ve quit jobs to do, but lost myself in anxieties that are best left unsaid. I’m feeling that today, and especially yesterday. Last night, I laid in bed to write by hand and shut my eyes for what seemed to be a moment. Boom, I woke up at a quarter before midnight, forty-five minutes late for work. Well, I fell back to sleep, and the rest is history. It’s not the first time I’ve done a no-call, no-show. However, when I’m not working on the things that I need to be working on, the anxiety affects other aspects of my life.

So I need to write elsewhere other than in the realm of text poetry. I’m still going to continue with this project, but I need to focus on other things, too.

None of what I just stated would make much sense, given that I’m writing this post. I felt compelled to say this tonight in between smoke breaks from writing.