Procrastinatus is my Roman Name

It's sad that when I had all the time in the world to write, I hadn't the skill to do it as well as I can now. Yet now when I have the skill, and even when I make the time, I find the world full of distractions - a carnival of minutiae that makes the most banal entertainment seem infinitely more interesting than working on my own book.

I'm certain this is the kind of self-destructive, auto-sabotage that makes most people stay wannabes. The skilled craftsman who never builds, the talented singer whose audience is only the empty car seats on the way to work, and me - a union of wasted potential if we keep up to our old tricks...

I want to finish my book. I'm going to finish my book.

Seperated at Birth - by a Time Machine!?

They favor. The similarity ends there.

No, I ain't dead...

Been working on my book and at the same time trying to do a bunch of corporate work, freelance work, and selling off CONSIGNMENT stuff. Sadly I wasted a lot of time (in an enjoyable fashion) playing a video game.

But let's be honest. I don't want my tombstone to say, "He played some video games."

Wrote a new "Movies for Gamers who like movies" review. As always, I hope you enjoy it.

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Updated 3-21 to point out that despite my perceptions, a Consignment Sale is not a Yard Sale. Even though you get rid of junk... (But there is no haggling at a consignment sale, AFAICT.)