📓 Monday, May 11, 2026 — 9:43 p.m.
I’ve been procrastinating drawing.
Which is funny to say out loud…
because I keep saying:
“I want to be an artist.”
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I have moments.
But moments without consistency…
disappear fast.
Like your breath on a cold day.
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Last month, I rushed Simba to the vet at 4 a.m.
Turns out he might’ve swallowed a flea.
That caused stomach issues.
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Since then, I’ve had him on a strict routine:
Wet food.
Dry food.
Medication with meals.
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And every day…
while doing deliveries selling plastic and paper bags…
I’d come back home at 12:30 and 4:30 just to check if he was okay.
If he threw up.
If he looked better.
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And somewhere in all of this…
I think I hit a wall.
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I’ve been grinding for years.
Seven days a week.
School.
Work.
Depression.
Breakups.
“You’re too old to go back.”
“It’s over.”
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But I kept going.
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37 pounds down since November 17, 2025.
College degree.
University degree.
No more debt.
Savings.
My own business.
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And still…
there’s always been this feeling:
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It’s not enough.
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So procrastination became my new way of coping.
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“I’ll do it tomorrow.”
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But lately…
the more I write…
the more I think something different.
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I think I’m finally starting to respect myself.
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Not because I’m finished.
Not because I made it.
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But because I kept going.
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And honestly?
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I’m proud of me.
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💬 Reader question
Have you ever realized your procrastination was really exhaustion or discouragement underneath it?
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If this felt real… I write moments like this.
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