It’s either the universe, or I’m too organized.
Why am I busy. Why ain’t I writing. Maybe it’s just me not getting things done or not properly done or not done in the right order that keeps me. Or the universe is after me, the chance of which is minute but nonzero, like for all wildly implausible things.
I always try to be as organized as possible, break down my tasks into the time management matrix of urgency and importance, and get by just fine with everything—except that I’m not getting around to doing the things that matter. Like, writing.
Maybe I should try and be a bit less organized? Tell urgent tasks to enjoy a snack and relax? Tell important tasks to take a hike and leave me alone for a while? Sounds crazily unlike me but maybe I should stop whining and give it a shot.