much porn, I can’t look at this stuff anymore.
It’s already three fifteen. I need to get my day back on track. Fast.
I reach into the back of my file drawer for my AntiCrastination Workbook.
Last summer, Henry decided that his whole team was not getting things done fast enough. He made us sit through a half-day seminar on AntiCrastination. Boiled down, the training consisted of three steps to ensure we would never drag our feet, goof off, or make Henry look bad ever again.
THE SECRETS OF ANTICRASTINATION
List your Works in Progress (WIPs) . Now prioritize them!!
Complete your WIPs. Set yourself a deadline and don’t start new projects till your current WIPs are finished!!
Reward yourself. Do something fun to celebrate the completion of each project before moving on to the next!!
Not everyone found the seminar worthwhile. “Do you realize,” said Susan Trevor, “how much progress I could have been making instead of sitting through that shit?”
Maybe Susan was right at the time. But today, this shit is the best I’ve got. I’ve accomplished nothing today. I’m still wearing the clothes I slept in. I need to start AntiCrastinating… immediately!!
I list my WIPs. I circle my top priorities. I give myself a deadline for each.
THIS AFTERNOON: Finish new Christopher Finchley column… Email to Fergus!!
BY WEDNESDAY NIGHT: Seduce Sam… Code Red Status: 27 days and counting!!
BY NOON ON FRIDAY: Livingston Kidd… Deliver finished presentation to Henry!!
That was productive. I’ve finished my WIP list. To reward myself, I click on my Netflix bookmark and spend the next fifteen minutes rearranging the movies in my queue. As soon as I’m sure I’ve listed all my Ingmar Bergman movies in order of their original release date—safely in the mid-300s, with no chance they’ll ever rise to the top—I feel ready to attack my first project with gusto.
By five thirty I email a draft to Fergus.
“Is this a joke?” he says.
“Not at all,” I say. “Don’t you like it?”
“What happened to the Unicorns?”
“I need more time for that. This came out better.”
“‘Look at My Poopie!’” Fergus reads aloud. “‘Tracing the Origins of Workplace Competitiveness to Your Early Childhood Years.’”
“What can I tell you? Beryl inspired me.”
“OK. I’ll read it and call you back.”
I reread the article myself. A thousand words on our childish need to please our workplace mommies and daddies. How some of us never get beyond the need to be overly praised for every symbolic bowel movement we produce. How the most needy among us rush to our bosses once, twice, three times a day looking to be acknowledged for the unimpressive brown pellets we’re cupping in our trembling hands.
“This is great,” says Fergus, calling me back.
“You like it?”
“Yes, Russell. You did good poopie.”
I hang up the phone. For my reward, I crank up the volume on my iPod speakers and do a funny little dance to a couple of Rilo Kiley tunes.
I stop when the neighbors below start banging on their ceiling. I take a shower before Sam gets home, then put on real clothes for the first time today. A clean T-shirt and my favorite relaxed-fit khakis. I plan to work on my next priority when Sam gets home.
“What the hell happened here?” she says.
“I was working. I had a creative burst. Wrote a whole new article today.”
“So when where you planning on picking this shit up?”
“No problem. I thought maybe I would ravish your sexy young body first.”
“Don’t start with that the moment I walk through the door. I’m not in the mood.”
“I’m just excited to see you.”
“This isn’t your office, Russell. If you can’t file all this away tonight, it’s going in the basement tomorrow.”
CHAPTER SIX
Before I walk into Henry’s nine a.m. staff meeting, I already know the three main obstacles Judd Walker has to overcome on his first day of his new
It’s already three fifteen. I need to get my day back on track. Fast.
I reach into the back of my file drawer for my AntiCrastination Workbook.
Last summer, Henry decided that his whole team was not getting things done fast enough. He made us sit through a half-day seminar on AntiCrastination. Boiled down, the training consisted of three steps to ensure we would never drag our feet, goof off, or make Henry look bad ever again.
THE SECRETS OF ANTICRASTINATION
List your Works in Progress (WIPs) . Now prioritize them!!
Complete your WIPs. Set yourself a deadline and don’t start new projects till your current WIPs are finished!!
Reward yourself. Do something fun to celebrate the completion of each project before moving on to the next!!
Not everyone found the seminar worthwhile. “Do you realize,” said Susan Trevor, “how much progress I could have been making instead of sitting through that shit?”
Maybe Susan was right at the time. But today, this shit is the best I’ve got. I’ve accomplished nothing today. I’m still wearing the clothes I slept in. I need to start AntiCrastinating… immediately!!
I list my WIPs. I circle my top priorities. I give myself a deadline for each.
THIS AFTERNOON: Finish new Christopher Finchley column… Email to Fergus!!
BY WEDNESDAY NIGHT: Seduce Sam… Code Red Status: 27 days and counting!!
BY NOON ON FRIDAY: Livingston Kidd… Deliver finished presentation to Henry!!
That was productive. I’ve finished my WIP list. To reward myself, I click on my Netflix bookmark and spend the next fifteen minutes rearranging the movies in my queue. As soon as I’m sure I’ve listed all my Ingmar Bergman movies in order of their original release date—safely in the mid-300s, with no chance they’ll ever rise to the top—I feel ready to attack my first project with gusto.
By five thirty I email a draft to Fergus.
“Is this a joke?” he says.
“Not at all,” I say. “Don’t you like it?”
“What happened to the Unicorns?”
“I need more time for that. This came out better.”
“‘Look at My Poopie!’” Fergus reads aloud. “‘Tracing the Origins of Workplace Competitiveness to Your Early Childhood Years.’”
“What can I tell you? Beryl inspired me.”
“OK. I’ll read it and call you back.”
I reread the article myself. A thousand words on our childish need to please our workplace mommies and daddies. How some of us never get beyond the need to be overly praised for every symbolic bowel movement we produce. How the most needy among us rush to our bosses once, twice, three times a day looking to be acknowledged for the unimpressive brown pellets we’re cupping in our trembling hands.
“This is great,” says Fergus, calling me back.
“You like it?”
“Yes, Russell. You did good poopie.”
I hang up the phone. For my reward, I crank up the volume on my iPod speakers and do a funny little dance to a couple of Rilo Kiley tunes.
I stop when the neighbors below start banging on their ceiling. I take a shower before Sam gets home, then put on real clothes for the first time today. A clean T-shirt and my favorite relaxed-fit khakis. I plan to work on my next priority when Sam gets home.
“What the hell happened here?” she says.
“I was working. I had a creative burst. Wrote a whole new article today.”
“So when where you planning on picking this shit up?”
“No problem. I thought maybe I would ravish your sexy young body first.”
“Don’t start with that the moment I walk through the door. I’m not in the mood.”
“I’m just excited to see you.”
“This isn’t your office, Russell. If you can’t file all this away tonight, it’s going in the basement tomorrow.”
CHAPTER SIX
Before I walk into Henry’s nine a.m. staff meeting, I already know the three main obstacles Judd Walker has to overcome on his first day of his new
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