I’m a perfectionist. Or should I say a pretextionist? Or should I rather use a word that I’ve yet to find an equivalent in Romanian or any other language? Okay, I am a procrastinator. Really, people should stop using this word with such ease, because it is not something to be proud of. You wouldn’t proudly state that you toss your dirty socks under the bed, for instance, because that’s gross. So is not doing what you are supposed to – lack of discipline one would call it, or perhaps laziness. A perfectionist is never done with anything because everything is supposed to be perfect and, as we all know, there is no such thing as perfection. The pretextionists, however, are something completely different – they never start anything until the circumstances are perfect. It’s hard to explain, how you can’t write because your pen is starting to look old and you need a new one. It sort of like this: you want to cook the most amazing meal ever: you read the recipe and start gathering the ingredients. You realize that you need milk so you get dressed and go buy some. You come home and realize that you don’t have a bowl that is big enough so you either go out again to buy the bowl or you just drop everything and order a fucking pizza. That’s me – I settle for the pizza. That’s you. That’s half of the people I know, at least at some point in their lives, but the fact that it is such a common phenomenon doesn’t make it acceptable.
It is the fifth of January 2012 – it has been almost a week since I decided that this year I would make it worth it – no more excuses, no more slacking. I’ll eat less (it’s a cliché, I know, but the fact that right now food is the second on my list of things that make me happy – right after buying stuff – is starting to scare me), draw more, write more, learn more. I am one of the crowd – it’s a new year, a new beginning – make it count! But just like the crowd, I plan much and do little. I procrastinate. And I don’t feel any shame at all.