Sam Without Pants

Sam Without Pants. Here is wherein I take a band name from Scalzi’s Next Band Name list, and spend no more than 20 minutes writing the story with the band name as a title.

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I’m stumped.

I don’t know what to do, and I don’t know what I should do about the fact that I don’t know what to do.

Stop that kid.

Okay, so, I should be doing some of the tasks on my list. I look at that list of things, and it’s just so big, and so overwhelming, and, oh god, kid, will you just stop that? Go to the other room. No, you can’t watch TV. Just give me five minutes, okay?

Sigh.

Okay, start. My list. Crap.

Okay, what’s the next thing due? I should do that.

Wait.

I keep doing that. I keep doing the next thing due, not the step that will take me one step closer to not having to do the next thing due, one step closer to my dreams. WHAT? No, you can’t! Go into the other room and play there! Yes, you can do that.

Okay, what’s the big thing I want to do? Well, there are so many things I want to do, I don’t know where YES! You can grab a juice out of the fridge. Take a box, not from the jug, okay?

Deep breath.

Should I count to ten, too?

Meditation, yes, that’s one of the big goals I have. Not sure I can meditate with this deadline tomorrow. Wait, tomorrow’s deadline, the article. Okay, yes, I know what I should do now, the article. Okay, bringing up my editor… title of the article?

Crap.

Um…

Okay, this is why I hadn’t started this last week, or the week before, or the week before. Does everyone do their tasks just before the deadline or is it just me? I guess I could do an article on procrastination and mock myself for procrastinating, but wouldn’t that just mean that the next client who is thinking of hiring me is just going to read it and thinking, nope, don’t want to torture my editor with that kind of slacking. Of course, if they knew their stuff, they’d give us deadlines that could be missed, and still be on time.

I guess that wouldn’t be a deadline then, would it.

And why does deadline have dead in it. Is it a dead line, a line not breathinga any more? I mean, what does a line have to do …

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Sam?

Come on, kid, answer already.

Sam!

I swear, kid, you are Calvin incarnate. Where are you?

Okay, here’s your shirt.

And your…

Is that you in the front yard?

Really kid?

Naked?

Sigh.