The Distraction of Distractions

I don't have ADD. I certainly don't have ADHD. If I suffered from either of those, I'd

[twenty minutes later]

As a listmaker, I've constructed plans for a variety of writing projects. I also have a handful of books to read, some for pleasure, some for groups I'm part of, and some because they could benefit the level of peace in my house.

I spend a chunk of time in my car thinking about projects I'll complete - twisted phrases, quirky characters, methods of advancing plots. And then I sit at my computer. And check Facebook. My disc golf crew's bulletin board. StoryMash. ESPN. How Philly's various sports teams fared the previous night. Facebook again, in case someone posted something of interest in the five minutes while I was away. Any assortment of followed linked articles from people I've met, or friends of friends of people I've met. YouTube. My Yahoo email. A PBM gaming site. My daily rundown of comics. Another visit to Facebook.

On rare occasion, something from the above compilation provides something of value. Very rare occasion.

And yet, it's all I can do to finish this blog post before thinking of something to change my status, thereby inviting people to comment or like me. Because existence is about collecting likes! I've intentionally avoided the Twittersphere because of the danger of lurking there for hours, searching for whatever inspiration I can find to push me away their site and into writing.

What makes me think going to Facebook will make me want to write?

Is this going to culminate like the games I've finally had to break to stop playing? How many sobrieties must I maintain on a daily basis? Isn't discipline supposed to get easier the longer I practice it?

How many things am I avoiding in order to post this blog entry for my occasional audience of nine readers?

Just now had a brief distraction conversation with a co-worker, which finished with her saying, "Getting up and doing something is overrated." In her defense, she's 37 weeks pregnant. What's my excuse?

Crappity Crap Crappiola

Yeah, so what if this was motivated partially by commenting on someone else's blog. I also want to keep pace with 2011's blog output, and by the end of this, I can check that off my list. I won't bother listing what I accomplished from my Halloween post, as the results waver between disappointing and depressing. Rather, I'll get into the meat of this. Or, more accurately, the crap.

Some crap floats. Since I have a kid with digestive issues, I've occasionally had to check to see whether his feces stay on the surface or sink to the bottom of the tank. It has to do with his properly processing the waste, and I suspect his diet plays a part in it too. Some ice cream has dye that rushes through his system and turns his poop green or blue, which shouldn't be as comical as it is (and probably isn't as comical to anyone who doesn't still laugh at a well-timed fart).

So I looked in the toilet this morning and discovered a brick hovering a few inches beneath the surface but never dropping to the drain. I stared curiously, waiting for it to blow a bubble and sink. If not air bubbles, how else could it sustain its current position in toilet purgatory? Eventually, it absorbed enough tankwater to descend and rest before it's journey to the center of the sewer system. I'd like to think I had a better reason to waste three minutes staring at my waste.

Right now, at this very moment, I'm sure you do too.

(It's good to be writing again. I have no other excuse for this.)