My last blog post was almost a week and a half ago. And, for someone who set out to post at least three times per week- if not daily, that fact is an all too obvious (and depressing) reminder that I am still one of the world's elite procrastinators. While I was in jail I constantly lamented all the time I wasted prior to my arrest and just as constantly fantasized about all I would accomplish once free- because I now truly knew the value of maximizing one's time. Writing my book, learning French- then Russian, earning a post-graduate degree (maybe I should focus on the Bachelor's first?), and paying off my credit card debt would all come simply as my life wouldn't revolve around pot anymore. My perfect world would nearly effortlessly materialize and I would stand as a shining example of the (not so) Little Felon that Could.
Ahh...pipe dreams. Formed in the crucible of jail-cell introspection. Captivity forces such a drastic alteration of every aspect of your life that it's easy to imagine, rather know, that during your incarceration all your bad habits have magically disappeared, never to trouble you again. It's true that I haven't been tempted to smoke pot since being freed, but self-congratulation on that point seems hollow as I now spend most my former pot money on books and booze. Books aren't a bad investment, but the fact that I've purchased more of them than I have written pages is telling. For a would-be writer it's a sign that the 'would-be' may well always be there. Oh well, there's always tomorrow.
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