Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to get started. Homework, for example, requires a wind-up that may or may not include several cups of tea, making a list of things to do, agonizing over said list, and/or a half an hour spent cruising uselessly around my email account. It is just at that point when I'm panicking about the crush of work, that my room needs to be cleaned and letters should be written. Then, just as I've talked myself in to starting the laundry, I realize what I'm doing, and force myself to study.
But the same thing happens with going out, as well, or making what I cynically term "life decisions". There I am, ensconced in my little nest of contentment, feeling only mildly bothered by the decision at hand. Whether to wear a dress or jeans or both, whether I should study French or Arabic next term, or whether I should go to graduate school. "A cup of tea would be lovely," I find myself thinking, stalling. "No! Now, put on your shoes and walk to the metro."
"Should I go out?" I wonder, standing in my underwear looking at my shoes. "I should probably do some homework. The grammar final is coming up soon."
"Then again, if I don't go out I'll feel like I'm wasting my time."
"But is going out a waste of my time? Shouldn't I be applying for scholarships of something?" "I'm sure I'll have a good time once I get there."
And that's generally the rule. The moment I act, I feel immediately better, as if I had been riding a bicycle at a snail's pace and had finally let my legs pick back up to full speed. And suddenly, I'm in a bar somewhere with friends, or running down the street laughing, and I forget how I ever doubted it.