So, I’ve embarked—on the good ship Self-Employment. I staged a cubicle coup and left the confines of the 9 to 5 (or, in my case, the 8:30 to 5, with a half hour for lunch).

You may think it’s all rainbows and sleeping in. You may picture me shuffling about in my bathrobe until sometime just before noon, when I finally clean myself up enough to go out for coffee before settling in for a strenuous 4 hour work day. But you would be wrong. I work just as hard, if not harder, than I did before I liberated my soul.

However.

There are some days—not many, but certainly a few—when I just can’t seem to get it together to manage my time properly. I dawdle. I waffle. I’ll use just about any word I can think of that ends in ‘le’ just to not have to think about it. I’ve made lists only to ignore them. I’ve set priorities only to re-prioritize them over and over until they no longer even make sense.

So, what does one do in this situation? There’s lots of advice on this from any number of productivity gurus, everything from making promises to others so you’ll make good, to delegating, to creating mini-milestones. For me, no amount of shame is too great to tolerate and no amount of joy found in having the opportunity to boss someone else around for a change is enough to make me productive. The only thing that works for me is: pick one thing. Then do it. Until it’s done. Then be happy with that. And move on. If you’re anything like me, chances are you’ll be so chuffed with yourself at having done something—anything—that you’ll do something else as well. And if not, at least the whole day wasn’t a wash.

I’d like to bring your attention to a crippling disorder that is afflicting millions of North Americans every day. It’s called DOA–Delayed Onset Adulthood. You’ve probably never heard of it, but neither have 99% of the people who are suffering from this heartbreaking disease.

DOA is a spectrum disorder that most commonly strikes men and women between the ages of 25 and 40. Its symptoms, which range in severity from only occasionally noticeable to completely debilitating, are varied. Some DOA sufferers are incapable of self-regulating or of making even the simplest decisions on their own without checking in with their entire Facebook or blog cohort; others have completely lost perspective on reality, preferring instead to continue to believe they are as special as their parents told them they are, and that they will indeed eventually become the next big thing on the indie music scene despite the fact that they work in an office and haven’t touched their Casio keyboard in over 18 months, and then only to look for some rolling papers.

But there is a cure. A simple procedure, called a cranio-rectal extraction, relieves virtually all symptoms of DOA. So if you or someone you love is suffering from DOA, don’t hesitate. Call now. We can help. 1-888-HEAD-OUT.

This public service announcement has been brought to you by FUCUP (Federation for Underachievers Coping with Unrealized Potential).

When I began thinking about blogging, I also began wondering if I had the confessional ability to spark something in other people, to move them in the same ways that I’ve been moved by other people’s writing. Some of the things I’ve come across in blogs have had such heartbreaking candor or humor (or poignancy, or, or, or…) that they go beyond just grabbing your attention and move into the realm of taking your attention by the neck in its dirty hands and wrestling it into submission on the ground. When that happens to me, it’s because someone has found an evocative way to talk about a subject that is deeply personal to him or her. At the end of the telling, I want to rest my hand on theirs. They’ve shared.

I, on the other hand, am not someone who shares easily. I’m friendly and relatively outgoing, but for the most part I’d really rather listen to other people talk about their stuff. I like to soak in their stories, absorb the little pieces that make them a whole person. I’m often amazed and sometimes a little envious of people’s ability to expose themselves emotionally or intellectually, how beautiful and simple it can be to ask others to look instead of waiting for them to dig. It takes a long time to get to know me, and even longer to find out anything definitive enough to aid in understanding me. I’m not aloof. I relay facts and anecdotes, slip hints, leave breadcrumbs.

I think we humans take delight in secrets, whether our own, or those belonging to others. My own absorption with the narrative of other people’s lives is like being in on a secret, one that I can guard and hold in cupped hands, delighting in its effect. Even the most mundane secret will do. This is why we read blogs or books, watch movies, listen to music. We’re looking for a truth in each of these things, something of our own stories just as much as a shared experience of someone else’s. I treat my own secrets much differently. Perhaps because I already know them so well, they are more difficult to handle and keep in perspective. Offering them unsolicited seems at best presumptuous, and at worst unsafe. Sharing one’s secrets, however mundane, is tantamount to revealing the soft underbelly where all vulnerability and insecurity is stored.

But there reaches a point where the desire to share, to be known and to reconcile what can be observed by others with its foundations, becomes more powerful than the ability to keep one’s own confidences. The need to convey all the secrets, mundane and dramatic, funny and serious, those of deep import and those inconsequential, becomes stronger than fear or pride or any of the other things that keep us from doing what we find we need to do. So we confess. And hope that someone holds our secret in cupped hands.

There are times in one’s life when the seat-of-your-pants technique just won’t work—a difficult thing to discover when you’ve been using it pretty much exclusively for over 30 years.

It’s come to my attention recently that in order to accomplish some of my goals I’m going to need a plan. It’s an interesting experience, basically coming up with a plan for your life. At work, I plan and organize things all the time. In fact it’s what I do. But trying to apply the same principles to my life is a whole other matter.

The thing about it is that you really have to look at yourself—who you are and what it is that you want— before you can even begin to make the plan. You can write down all the grand schemes you want, but if they really don’t fit in with the person that you are or the levels of risk you’re comfortable with, it’s not going to work. Legwork needs to get done before you get anywhere? Guess who’s doing that? Those little/gigantic fears you have? Yeah, you’re going to have to look straight at those and figure out a way to get around them. You have to be able to recognize your challenges for what they are, and find a way to deal with them that will actually work for you. Not what worked for anyone or even everyone else, but for you (or in my case, me). It’s an exercise in honesty and self-examination that makes me shudder just thinking about it.

Being a committed seat-of-the-pants person, this shift in “management technique” for lack of a better term makes my skin crawl. But, just as important as learning what works, is learning what doesn’t and deciding to try something different. So that’s where I am right now.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

My loyal readers (both of you, bless your hearts) are likely wondering where the Hello Kitty I’ve been lately.

I’d like to say “I’ve been busy” but it’s simply not true. However, here’s a list of 10 other possible reasons I haven’t been posting*:

1. The vagaries of the internet have eluded me. (Please disregard the fact that I email/FB/Twitter with some degree of regularity [read: obsessively]).
2. The internet was broken.
3. My computer was broken.
4. I was broken.
5. In a cruel and freakish twist of fate, I lost my fingers in a horrific accident concerning some frozen poultry, a roll of undeveloped film, 6 Laotian khaen players and a bowl of lentil soup.
6. I have been trapped under something heavy with only my mobile phone, which for some reason I did not use to call for help, to amuse me.
7. Plagued with crippling “performance anxiety” I was unable to publish for fear of alienating/disturbing/amusing/acting as a mirror to your enfeebled sense of humanity/boring my two dedicated readers.
8. Someone switched the keys on my keyboard so that everything I endeavored to type appeared to be the garbled ramblings of a drunk. Wait a minute…
9. I was drunk.
10. A garden gnome stole my password.

*Disclaimer: The listed reasons may or may not be true, either when taken as a whole or in part. The Noun accepts no liability for the content of this blog post, or for the consequences of any actions taken on the basis of the information provided, unless the information is subsequently confirmed in writing. Even if said information were to be subsequently confirmed in writing, you’d have to make a pretty compelling argument for me to give a flying flange about the entire godforsaken affair. Garden gnomes, Laotian Khaen players, and heavy things notwithstanding, what you read here is pretty much your problem. I mean, you’re not one of those people who need the “Caution. This beverage is hot!” warnings, are you? You are, aren’t you!? Ugh.