You saucy little minx.
You pop in one minute, the next you’re gone. Or are you? You allow me to spend four hours picking out stock photos of cheese graters and rolling pins, but give me only five seconds of interest in the bathroom floor which hasn’t been swept in so long it looks carpeted.
Rather than pass a quiet evening with my honey watching Iron Man 2: Electric Boogaloo, I spent most of its 124 minutes wondering if that palladium thingy on Robert Downey’s chest glowed for realsies or if it was brought to us by After Effects. Then I began to think, you know, if a former heroin junkie can be Iron Man, there’s really no excuse for me not to bust out that Pilates DVD a couple days a week. And then I got all OOH! I wonder if those nasty-ass nails are really Mickey Rourke’s or if they were acrylic or those gel ones. Then I realized the movie was over AND I have a major crush on the dude who plays Coulson.
So, you see, Focus, it’s not that I don’t appreciate you when you show up. But you’re like the college kid who pops in to the parents’ house just for food and then makes a run for it as soon as you’ve told him to get what he needs out of the pantry. And I know it’s not all your fault. You hang out with those neurotransmitters, feh. That Dopamine fella, I know how he does. He gets all hey girl. You wanna go play Angry Birds for six hours? It’ll make you feel guuuuuuud. We’re powerless to resist. It’s a lizard-brain thing.
But Focus, we’ve got to have an understanding. I need to finish at least one task a day, mmmkay? And you? You can’t just be popping in and out like a bad knee. I need you, Focus. I need you.