FF1WithAllThieves
07-10-2006, 04:34 AM
Let me know what you think of this, guys, and please don't hesitate to tell me this is shit, so long as that's what it is.
Melvin's Motivation
By: FFIWithAllThieves
It had been an unusually long day, and whether this was because the Earth was moving more slowly, causing its inhabitants to perceive time more slowly, or Melvin had just been bored, he was ready to sleep.
A few minutes later, he remembered again that the day was moving slowly because he had a piano recital the next day and wasn't prepared for it.
"Well, shit," he said.
He dragged himself over to the piano and finally began to practice. Late as it was, this was the key for him, as he knew. If he could just get started, he would have no trouble keeping at it until he was ready. Fifteen minutes of painstakingly slow practice, then another fifteen of the same thing, then another half-hour, then he finally began to bring up the tempo.
With three hours of practicing, he could finally play the music tolerably well.
Then he realized it was 3:00 in the morning.
"Well, shit," he said.
He dragged himself up to his bed and finally went to sleep. Late as it was, this was the key for him, as he knew. If he could just get started, he would have no trouble sleeping for the rest of the night.
At 8:00 in the morning, he awoke unexpectedly and realized that his recital was at 8:30.
"Well, shit," he said.
He dragged himself out of his bed and finally got in the shower. Late as it was, this was the key for him, as he knew. If he could just get started going, he would stay awake and be on time for his recital.
He drove to his recital, still angry at himself for procrastinating, secretly knowing he'd do it again. He always procrastinated, and there was nothing to be done about it.
A fair size audience was in the recital hall, including all of Melvin's various music teachers. That did not intimidate him. Several of his friends even joined the ranks. That did not intimidate him. Nothing short of the presence of the composers of his selected pieces, all of whom were conveniently dead, could have given Melvin the remotest feeling of stage fright. He stepped up to the piano, a beautiful Steinway, bowed, sat, and began.
The music was not flawless by any means, but somehow as he was playing through Rachmaninoff, Chopin, and Bach, he found peace from all the stress in his life, of school, projects, fights with his girlfriend, and even the fact that he hadn't eaten for almost a full day.
Melvin stood up, absorbed all the applause, bowed, and thought to himself, "Wow, I really pulled that one out of my ass. I'm never gonna procrastinate like that again."
That night, he suddenly remembered he had an English paper due the next day.
"Well, shit," he said.
He dragged himself to his computer and finally began to work. Late as it was, this was the key for him, as he knew. If he could just get started...
Melvin's Motivation
By: FFIWithAllThieves
It had been an unusually long day, and whether this was because the Earth was moving more slowly, causing its inhabitants to perceive time more slowly, or Melvin had just been bored, he was ready to sleep.
A few minutes later, he remembered again that the day was moving slowly because he had a piano recital the next day and wasn't prepared for it.
"Well, shit," he said.
He dragged himself over to the piano and finally began to practice. Late as it was, this was the key for him, as he knew. If he could just get started, he would have no trouble keeping at it until he was ready. Fifteen minutes of painstakingly slow practice, then another fifteen of the same thing, then another half-hour, then he finally began to bring up the tempo.
With three hours of practicing, he could finally play the music tolerably well.
Then he realized it was 3:00 in the morning.
"Well, shit," he said.
He dragged himself up to his bed and finally went to sleep. Late as it was, this was the key for him, as he knew. If he could just get started, he would have no trouble sleeping for the rest of the night.
At 8:00 in the morning, he awoke unexpectedly and realized that his recital was at 8:30.
"Well, shit," he said.
He dragged himself out of his bed and finally got in the shower. Late as it was, this was the key for him, as he knew. If he could just get started going, he would stay awake and be on time for his recital.
He drove to his recital, still angry at himself for procrastinating, secretly knowing he'd do it again. He always procrastinated, and there was nothing to be done about it.
A fair size audience was in the recital hall, including all of Melvin's various music teachers. That did not intimidate him. Several of his friends even joined the ranks. That did not intimidate him. Nothing short of the presence of the composers of his selected pieces, all of whom were conveniently dead, could have given Melvin the remotest feeling of stage fright. He stepped up to the piano, a beautiful Steinway, bowed, sat, and began.
The music was not flawless by any means, but somehow as he was playing through Rachmaninoff, Chopin, and Bach, he found peace from all the stress in his life, of school, projects, fights with his girlfriend, and even the fact that he hadn't eaten for almost a full day.
Melvin stood up, absorbed all the applause, bowed, and thought to himself, "Wow, I really pulled that one out of my ass. I'm never gonna procrastinate like that again."
That night, he suddenly remembered he had an English paper due the next day.
"Well, shit," he said.
He dragged himself to his computer and finally began to work. Late as it was, this was the key for him, as he knew. If he could just get started...