I make the same mistake every year.
Every. Goddamned. Year.
I look at the calendar sometime in November, and I think, man, look at all those days you got comin’ to you, JB
And then the fat man and his elfy little friends fuck me with an antler.
Let the word go forth from this time and this place that next year will be different.
I mean it this time.
December really should be blocked out as a buffer to absorb any unfinished deadlines from November, and if you happen to be efficiently productive enough to get everything done by Nov 30 then you just get a month off to eat your own body weight in ham and commune with the Big Green Egg and its outputs.
I started a new job in November and while I'm loving the new gig and am very inspired and enthusiastic about my work, this week I've worked out that I hit the wall sometime over the weekend of 17/18 Dec and enthusiasm alone is proving insufficient to drag my sorry arse through my final work week before the mandatory Christmas shut down of my new workplace. The struggle is EPIC.
I hate to say this JB, but, are you an idiot? All those days are not for projects or starting good habits or any of that crap they tell you about in self help books. The next two weeks are about, sleeping in, going to bed whenever you want, an unlimited nap window, ignoring your family, open bar at all times and pure indulgence. How could you get that wrong.
I think it's a common problem. The same thing is happening here at Chateau Dysfunction.
JB, it's not your fault, all homo sapiens are blighted with the same trait, we always leave it till the last minute. Take climate change for instance, she'll be right on the night, no worries mate, it'll be good as gold.
I do feel I should comment on your excessive use of the twin evils of Sloth and Torpor. I indulge myself in a cold shower every morning, followed by a brisk run around the block, don't make the same mistake as me, put some clothes on, the Magistrate was explicit on that condition of my parole.
I then follow the regime of Stephen king and lay down at least six pages, every day. My muse rewards me generously upon completing the cerebral part of the day. The rest of the day is beyond description in a decorous discourse on these pages.
To alleviate your guilt of wallowing in the twin evils, one can procure all manner of things that you had to formerly dain to stoop to, by getting delivered to your door all manner of things, even certain pleasures of a baser kind.
Next year I'm going to send a list of all my pressies to Amazon and have them delivered to each rellie on Xmas eve.
You need to stop looking at the calendar. That appears to be your first mistake.
"And then the fat man and his elfy little friends fuck me with an antler" well there is an idea for 2023 Xmass card.