November 16, 2012
It’s the middle of the night (or, well, the crack of dawn, anyway, which is pretty much the same thing) and time, therefore, for a True Confession.
I am addicted to Personal Productivity Self-Help Literature.
There. I said it.
I have an unholy passion for the Get It Done guy. His buddy, the Do It Now Dude, fuels my fantasies by night. I love them so much, I’d totally marry them and have their babies, except I’m afraid the sex would be perfunctory and over before it began.
I’m thankful for the kindle because it allows me to indulge my shameful secret, without physically cluttering my space, or fenging up my shui (which is a total no-no in personal productivity, according to the third, seventh and 13th book on the subject I’ve read this month. The jury is out on shui-fenging according to the fourth and ninth books).
I’m not picky about my productivity methods. You say I need to make a Venn Diagram? Gimme markers and poster board, and stand back. You say I need to block out time for myself? Sure, Baby–that’s what this insomnia business is for. You want me to delegate? My dog is all about cleaning out my pots and pans for me, saving me valuable hours in the kitchen. You want me to simplify? I’m loving this mountain of camo pants and olive drab tees I found at the Army surplus store. My family needn’t shop anywhere else, do we?
I’ve got six more how-to books in my queue, and when I’ve mastered their systems…
…give me a moment, while I whisper, “Mastered their systems” a few times over…
…I will become, at long last, the woman I’ve always secretly dreamed of being: