I was supposed to have published this two hours ago.
I was supposed to have written this last night.
There are benefits to procrastination, but if you wait long enough for the last minute that last minute will always find you, like a vengeful blue shell. And then what happens?
Not a lot.
Life goes on.
The lines we create do not have cosmic significance. The boundaries and borders we use to measure time and nation and weight are for our use only. They’re to help our little meat brains remember where home is, when the sun rises, how much flour to add to a cake. There’s even a certain thrill to crossing these lines, flouting them as shallow contrivances– even if, more often than not, we’re better off having them than not having them.
Even the most important boundaries we can imagine – here or gone, wealthy or destitute, alive or dead – are of significance only to us. The universe will carry on, whatever side of those lines each of us and everyone we know happen to fall on.
When everything is significant, nothing is. When nothing is significant, everything is. It’s up to us to decide what’s important to us, because no universal currency is invested in our actions. Our small choices will lead to small consequences, and how we feel about them is nobody’s business but ours.
I don’t like missing deadlines…
Usually.
But I like to know that I can. As someone who deals with the occasional anxiety issue, it’s helpful sometimes to remind myself that I can slip a little bit and still be okay; that not achieving perfection isn’t the same as failure, and even failure usually isn’t that bad.
Currently this is about 300 words.
I usually try to write 500.
But, like, you know. Whatever.