On Being Constantly Distracted
Something something, blah blah blah, there’s too much technology, blah. It’s already fully apparent that we are too distracted in the digital age. It’s a trope we’re all too familiar with and are frankly sick of. Complaining about having too many devices and screens is so 2014. What’s next? A comment about having too many social media accounts? Thanks, Obama! It’s all too much and it never ends. How can a guy like me, an aspiring writer, an artiste, get anything done?
It’s quite difficult.
Even right now, as I’m huddled in my office, getting paid too much money to be doing such tasks, it’s hard to get anything going. I type one sentence and I have to tend to a persistent machine. I get one more thought in and I have to check Twitter, just to ensure that people still have shitty takes about Clayton Kershaw. And then I have to go to the MLB The Show app and maintain my stub flipping. And then, when I’m about to write a glorious passage, I’m interrupted by a stupid customer. “No, we don’t have any limes, DIANNE! Will you excuse me, I’m trying to be creative here!” I’m just kidding. Her name wasn’t Diane.
On average, I spend about 3 hours in traffic every week. You’d think I’d be able to use that time to write, but it’s apparently frowned upon. Since when has being behind the wheel of a large automobile stopped people from being creative. We drive on highways filled with people checking emails, taking selfies with sunglasses on, recording manifestos and filming pornos. I should be able to write while I’m driving! But alas, it’s just too distracting.
And it goes on like that.
I could write on my lunch break, but I’m distracted by sandwiches.
I could write on the toilet, but I’m distracted by pooping.
I could write while I’m playing video games, but I’m distracted by playing video games.
I could write while I’m writing, but I’m distracted by writing.
And then I get home. My one and only sanctuary. The place where all the creative magic happens. A place that I can call my own, be whoever I want and write whatever I want. But even then, there’s a catch:
I’m constantly distracted by these two cute creatures.
How can you expect any warm blooded human to get anything productive done when they’re constantly surrounded by perfection? How can a man value his worth when he’s among the priceless? How can I get anything done at all, ever?!? They’re the bane of my creative existence and they must be stopped!
I could write in the evening time. I totally could, I have the time and mental capacity to do so. Promise. But when Rachel is sitting on the middle seat of the coach, being her cute self, I can’t help but snuggle up to her and admire her. And when I am able to pry my attention away from her, she’s always making perfectly corny jokes, which distracts me even more. If there’s anything that’s going to pry me away from writing, it’s beauty and laughter, and she has that in spades. Even in the short time I can pry myself away from her to write, I can never give it my full attention. Because I know she’s in the other room, being her cute self. She’s a blessing and a curse, in every right and wrong way.
And then there’s the rare occasion when I have the house to myself. The perfect time to do extracurricular activities like watch deathmatch wrestling and write. But then Willy still acts as a barrier. He knows when I’m trying to write something important, when I’m trying to create, because he leaps onto the bed and does everything in his power to distract me. He’ll sunbathe in a million cute poses, he’ll rub up against my arm, he’ll pretend to watch me as if he were a stern teacher, he does whatever it takes to ensure that I don’t get anything done. And after a little while, I’ll relent, join him on the bed, feed him some treats, check Twitter, flip some stubs, and before I know it, I’ve wasted too much time.
You could say that these are good problems to have, but they’re still problems. In a world where we’re all distracted by millions of different devices, I have to come home to a wonderful wife and cat. I should probably just hang up my pen and call it quits, but I can’t. I’m determined to overcome all the distractions that hinder me. I am a writer! I am an artiste! Perfect family be damned, I WILL CREATE!
…as soon as I figure out what to write.