Infernal Structure

Simplicity is tough, distraction alluring. The past three days I've written 2000 words, 0 words, and 2000 words. It's tough disciplining myself to avoid distraction.

When I was a kid, I attended a Christian school until 7th or 8th grade. I was a quick student; I needed very little prep time to test well. Unfortunately for me, I was able to easily co-opt that strength. Our curriculum was called PACE. (Incredibly, this scholastic format persists: http://www.mountainviewchs.com/Curriculum.asp) Paces were divided by lessons and it was essentially self-study. Augmented occasionally by the "teacher", but predominately self-study. Instead of studying, I'd make cars out of my pink eraser and four tacks, read the dictionary or the cool parts of the Bible (both appeared like studying when the teacher walked by) or, with my friend Matt, we'd play role-playing games all day by passing notes. Matt even brought a collection of dice.

When it came time to conclude a PACE, I'd hurry up and slam it through. It's probably how and why I finished my Bachelors in 18 months and my Masters in 8 months. But I was uninterested in the details, the process, or learning.

9th grade, I did home school. I think it's what Spinal Tap called turning it up to eleven.

Fast-forward many years and I sit in my house, 30000 words behind me, 2000 words ahead and try to force myself to write or think and *not* find other things to do.

Other things like blog reading, email checking, "planning", buying, stalling...

I don't wish I could go back and do it different when it was easier - that seems futile and empty to me. But all those little diversions are too instantly rewarding to ignore without comparably enormous effort.

The fact it is an age-old problem is not a consolation. It would be nice to see how someone's overcome such a struggle. I hear Romans (O wretched man that I am). I read about Abram (pre -ham) who, after God said, "go here", instead hung around until his father-in-law died then moved a little, lived a little while, moved a little, lived a little while... and I think, oh get on with it! Wait. He was called God's friend.

I've learned an evil lesson: I can always make it up in the end, just in time, and very well. My current employer has not disabused me of this truth.

Which means appearance matters because I risk criticism and shame in the interim.

If my goal is to write 2000 words; hasty writing is my out. If my goal is to write 2 hours; there's lots of ways to burn time "writing".

Back to Romans I go.

The structures of this evil weakness are well built, I am realizing as I write. My parents, relatives, and the church I grew up in taught me that it isn't enough to 'be'. You can't be accepted/loved; you must do then, based on your do you are accepted/loved. There's a tight, fitted joint between that and the necessity of appearance.

O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?

and when?

I wish to write, I wish to tell myself, "This'll be the year things change." And then list my 20-point plan to accomplish that objective.

But it just isn't there.

Re-reading this, it comes across hopeless. But maybe it's more like lancing the boil.