it's purely beautiful outside

[henk_sents]

I'm not outside. I'm inside, listening to the cats eat while I work on a big project. That should already be mostly done. That is not almost mostly done. Of all the things that I have learned to give up and get over in my life, why does the pathological procrastination persist? Is it simply an inborn trait, like a taste for pickles? Is it something I learned during the gifted class years? Is it a way of reacting to a world that puts emphasis on things I don't particularly care about?

Am I just a lazy mofo?