OPINION: A lack of motivation and a case of extreme daydreaming can only mean one thing: my winter personality has set up shop.
This rather fresh introduction to autumn during the past few weeks has been one that’s snuck up on me; I felt like we were having this long and glorious summer, which would hopefully never end, but then one morning I woke up and summer’s beautiful light had been snuffed out.
I usually try to combat my lack of motivation in my personal life by writing lists of things I need to do in the hopes that I’ll freak out over all the things I’m wanting to achieve within the next month, panicking me into a state of productivity.
It’s a stupid way of existence but one that is so deeply embedded, probably stemming from my university days.
Procrastination has always been a bit of an art for me. It’s also driven other people completely crazy.
I recall the time I had one of my university lecturers emailed me because she was losing it that there was only 15 minutes to go in the deadline for an essay she’d set, which was worth like half of my grade for the paper. I submitted with about 2 minutes on the clock (don’t be impressed; 17 seconds before deadline was my personal best).
Guess who still passed their Honours degree. This guy.
Being a working professional these days means I obviously am far more together than my university self, but the minute I get home in the colder months the allure of sitting in front of the fire with Netflix seems too good to pass up.
For example, two days ago.
It’s the end of the day, the temperature is below 10 degrees Celsius and I’ve got a parking ticket for trying to cheat the system and leaving my car parked in The Crescent for 3+ hours in a 90 minute zone.
Sigh. I do not feel like doing anything tonight except for going home and watching Netflix in front of the fire.
My phone beeps. It’s Bestie, asking me if I am dead because she hasn’t heard from me in more than 18 hours and she saw an ambulance around the corner from street that morning and was worried I may have uncharacteristically decided to go for a walk but had a heart attack.
Assuaging her fear that I am alive and my blood pressure is completely normal, she asks if I want to hang out.
Sigh. I still do not feel like doing anything. But going around to her house and sitting in front of her fire and watching her Netflix seems like a good trade off to me.
This is what much of my post-work evenings have looked like of late. Daylight savings has finished, I’ve had to put the second duvet back on my bed for fear of freezing to death in my 100-year-old house and the prospect of going to bed before 8pm doesn’t strike me as odd anymore.
I knew it was bad when I was at a birthday party a couple of weekends ago and all I could think of was how nice it would be to go home and chuck the electric blanket on and re-watch 101 Dalmatians because Hugh Laurie and Ron Weasley’s dad as Cruella De Vil’s henchmen Horace and Jasper are among the best things to have happened to a Disney live-action film.
As you can tell, a complete nervous breakdown would probably lead to me becoming a full on hermit and cutting myself off from society (but not the internet, I’m not that strong).
The dragging feeling of winter is very real, but perhaps this year I should think about making an effort to be less boring.
Maybe I could find some sort evening class to attend and learn something new.
Maybe. But maybe also Netflix and the fireplace …