Procrastination....

Hello my name is J. I've been addicted to procrastination for 3 years now. I don't know how to control it. I procrastinate at my job, thats why it takes me 45 minutes to close. I do it at school, thats why I have shitty grades. I do it at home, which explains the post-natural disaster state of my room. I really only accomplish tasks when I am forced to conform to a deadline.

Example: Math test friday, so i'll wait until Thursday night or Friday morning between classes to study.

Another example is how there is no deadline for me to lose some chub, so I don't. Maybe if I knew my approximate death date due to my genetically- predicted obese adulthood, I would start to lose weight 5 days before that. JK.

But really now. My "New Years Slogan" last year was UPGRADE YA. & I kinda did pretty good, but in 2009 to amp it up I decided that I will run one mile everyday that I don't work. I've done a great job on my TWO runs seems how i have worked six days this year. LOL.
Anyways i am eating better, no more fast food and i feel better too.
And since I am no longer dating a fat cow of a man/toddler i need to lose a couple ELLBEES and get myself back in the game.

He Doesn't Do the Little things....

This new guy doesn't do the little things. He hasn't driven to Enumclaw 1,000 times, bought me roses because I was having a bad day, or come to my work just to tip. He hasn't picked me up at 4am on a dark corner in the ghetto of Tukwila just because I asked him to, or lent me Jordan shorts, or met my mom. He hasn't rented movies for me, and then not gotten mad when they came up late on his bill, made omelets for me, and sat on the floor during dinner because we sold all of our furniture. He hasn't walked my dog, raced hondas with me, or been to IHOP with me at 1am. Or bought me Adidas and sushi, introduced me to his whole family. He didn't sneak into the apartment complex pool with me, or hide in the tanning room to make out, text me 100 times a day and leave me sweet voice mails pertaining to my vegetarianism. He never gets competitive with me, cracks my back, or offers to count my tips after work. He's never kissed my skin and told me I tasted like coffee.