Fuck it. Throw it all away. This time I mean it.
I sense a pattern. I don’t like the whole act of moving, so I always end up just staring into space for the final week, not able to compartmentalize tasks, and then I just walk away with things undone, leaving a massive mess for the owners to deal with.
I stop caring about anything and walk away. It’s 720am today and I’ve been in bed eating chocolate wondering how mad the owner will be when I leave him with this mess. Things. Cables. Stuff.
In today’s world, throwing things out can cost a lot of money. It can be a shitty job whether it’s your junk or anybody else’s. The last three days I’ve been trying to organize the remains, thinking it wasn’t that big a task each time I put it off. I think this is almost done. There’s not much left. I do a little bit, and then I go back to doing nothing for a while.
Now there is no time and instead of doing things, I’m laying in bed writing about not doing things.
It doesn’t help that they’ve given it terms and normalized the neurodivergent inability to get things done in such a way that I’m not even supposed to feel guilty about doing nothing. I went from being called lazy, to being called ADHD, to being called neurodivergent with problems pertaining to executive function. Each time they come up with a new term, the idea of doing nothing is normalized.
I think that’s made it even harder in an odd way. If doing nothing is a function of my brain and you can’t really blame me for it, then I’d be a fool not to take advantage of it and do anything. Right?
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