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Procrastinating? Is that what they call this? I look over my left shoulder at the stack of unwashed dishes, the order for that guy in Georgia that I haven’t even started yet, and the pile of boxes waiting to be filled with our belongings. Over my right shoulder is a phone I purchased & need to return to the mega-super-awesome-buy-it-now-cause-you-NEED-it electronics store and a pile of dirty clothes. I might be procrastinating. I also might be milking the dregs of panic free time I have left before things get crazy in a couple of weeks. Fuck it. Give it a name, right? I have a dozen things I could be doing. A dozen things that need to be done. “A dozen things that will still be there tomorrow”, I say to myself as I light another cigarette & pick up the video game controller. I have a shit storm of busy coming my way very shortly. Tonight I have Dresden Dolls, sweet red wine, Camel cigarettes and Bejeweled. Those gems aren’t going to match up themselves, you know.