There’s nothing I love as much as rolling out from under my decade-old dragon-print mink blanket at the crack of 7 on a Saturday morning, pulling on my plaid “schleppin’ it” pants, and walking to the kitchen to brew a cup of Superstore Earl Grey only to be faced with a mountain range of melamine, china and Rubbermaid.
Sure, yeah, I can still make my tea. But the likelihood of my pre-caffeinated wrists (no room for elbows) knocking something over is almost as high as the precarious tower of mugs over there next to the stove.
And breakfast? That would be nice, but all the good bowls are in the sink (except the one I broke last week).
It’s often this point on any given morning that I decide to go for brunch. I believe it’s always good to have an excuse for going out for brunch. Sometimes the excuse is as simple as, “I’m hungry and the only things in my fridge are lentils, fish jerky and sriracha.” Other times I need to be more creative, like: “It’s 1 p.m. on a Tuesday and true, I have a lot of work to do, but I also haven’t had a mimosa all week. Plus the brunch place has wifi so I can get some work done. Just can’t get hollandaise on my iPad like last time.”
Other time, brunch is not an option. Like when I really do have a lot of work to do. In those cases, I’ve found it’s better to just wash some dishes and make some toast.
When faced with a task as huge as (or sometimes bigger than) toast, I find it motivating to refer back to a favourite mantra: “Just… do it.” I’m not quoting Nike’s branding experts here, but rather a wannabe stand-up comic with a grey ponytail and Coke-bottle glasses. We sat next to each other for 12 hours one day. He told me about his escapades in Thunder Bay and showed me the colour-coded mind maps in his notebook.
At the top of one notebook page, he’d written “JFDI.” I asked what it stood for. “Just fuckin’ do it,” he said with a magnified blink.
As someone who recently graduated with a major in communications and a minor in procrastination, this really resonated with me. How much of my life do I want to spend eyeing dirty dishes from across the room while tweeting about all the exciting projects I could be working on? Just a very small amount, thank you.
So I’m going to just fuckin’ do it, and you should too (you can “just effin’ do it” if you need to scale it back a notch). Do whatever it is that needs doing: last night’s dishes, next week’s freelance assignment, getting out of the house for brunch despite the cold or maybe finally writing the next post on your blog.
Anyone else need to just effin’ get something done?