#4 The Procrastinatrix: A Domestic Goddess
Proud and regal, she calls to me as I sit here, staring at the screen of my laptop which miraculously isn’t filling up with words of its own volition. She soothes me with soft words, and suggests that I might feel better if I take a little break…..
She can always find any number of little things to take interest in, like recycling that cardboard or just tidying the kitchen a little……
I swear I’ve never been so meticulous about cleaning my teeth.
The Procrastinatrix has me in her grasp, and now I stare out the window wondering why I still haven’t finished that chapter I was so eager to type out.
A God or Goddess?
As I mentioned in my previous post fantasy has some deep roots in mythology, amongst the most obvious examples being J.R.R. Tolkien’s understanding of northern European myth and the book I am reading to my son, Three Hearts and Three Lions draws on the same source, much as Poul Anderson’s other notable work The Broken Sword. There are a whole host of themes to be found, and again in a previous post I made mention of clichés being comfortable, being familiar; wizards with pointy hats, witches with cauldrons, heroes and dragons, kings, virgins and transformative magical powers, not to mention a pantheon of deities. Aside from the persistence of these ideas in (supposedly) predominantly Christian nations which is testament to the endurance of myth, folklore and older pagan ideas about the cosmos. We know them, remember them, see them recycled not only in the genre of fantasy but also in many movies, music, games and even children’s cartoons:
(NB Don’t watch this on drugs kids, you wont need them)
My question, and one I should note for future investigation, is how far does this subsconscious understanding go? Are we so at home with certain concepts that we can perhaps extrapolate something about the nature of our own society from it? Bruce Lincoln drew my attention to the fact that the priesthood controls the religion, and that the deities and myths that go with that religion structure the cosmos, reinforcing the order of society as something ordained and natural.
With this in mind we might point a finger at my use of ‘goddess’, but how would it have felt to have a domestic god instead? It seems comfortable to make this anthropomorphic embodiment of a homely situation into a woman, and as much as that may seem to be a patriarchal stereotype, it is one that endures in popular culture nonetheless. As gods and goddess are associated along gender divides so we often think of gods of war, lightning (spermatic, inseminating male power!) and law, all good things that go with civilisation, while we have goddesses of the home, nature, childbirth and love.
So, would you rather a domestic god, a golden haired, golden bearded, rip-muscled divinity brandishing a three headed scrubbing brush? He smites limescale! He lays waste to sinks full of washing up with devastating floods and sends prophecies to the kitchen table seared into giant, well-done steaks.
No no no, this must be a goddess because her words are like silken strands of moonlight, caressing me softly into idle action. Ooooh, that foul temptress…….
I sip my tea, regretting how minty fresh my teeth are for a moment. I think that perhaps she has put something in it because I’m losing focus. I stare a while longer, making small attempts to write something until I get distracted by something else to do. The tea goes cold and so so requires another one to be made while I wait with patience for the first line to come to me, the first line that will lead to a something finished. Sitting back down with a fresh, steaming cup I get ready but something out of the corner of my eyes calls to me……
Split ends are like being haunted in this respect, always spotted lingering at the edge of your field of vision. I exorcise those that I see, but as with the worst hauntings it doesn’t take long for the disturbance to start up again. It’s not vanity I tell myself, despite getting the kind of looks from woman that say they want to scalp me and get a hair transplant. I laugh! Vain? Me? It’s just that their split ends dammit! THE SPLIT ENDS! They call to me, like sirens gently singing, illuminated as by shafts of golden sunlight that stream through my window. Trimming the first one you capture is a victory, leading you to hunt for more.
This is absorbing work, for their song is never ending!
To escape I flee into the future and fight against the pixelated enemies in Warframe. I become a great warrior fighting for the Lotus. She is our guide, our conscience. We must fight, for our enemies multiply and seek our destruction. I tell myself that it’s just one mission, just one foray into the heart of the enemy. Who the hell can resist being a bad-ass space ninja after all?
Such digital distractions have become an extension of the domestic realm, and if you let yourself be taken in by their increasingly complex and involving universes it is like accepting the goddesses own opiate.
There is but solution, and that is to get out! Get yourself away from the infernal machinations of the goddess! Slip away when you can, break the tea cups, shave your head, and uninstall these digital distractions. Got to get out of the house.
To be sure I have uninstalled Warframe while the goddess wasn’t looking (in fact I removed Steam altogether). I got sick of what devotees refer to as the grind, a term referring to the endless pursuit of goodies that can be harvested from games where you level up and build things and power up your equipment with more powerful modifications. It’s the same reason I stopped playing Diablo II, TitanQuest, Torchlight and others. You reach a point where it’s just not fun anymore. It’s literally a grind. It ends up being nothing more than habit, and they have designed it to keep you coming back by giving you a reward every time you log in, so logging in becomes a habit that is itself rewarding. I made a conscious decision to break this habit.
I felt better immediately.
I have a friend who writes and she says that if she stays at home then she finds it hard to get any writing done. She hits the local coffee shop and works for three hours. I’m of a mind to do the same now that a local coffee shop has opened just 10 minutes walk from here. You just have to remove yourself from the temple of distractions, from the house of the goddess.
Escaping, we embark on the quest into the wilderness (or coffee shop), there to grind at something more important as we seek instead the Muse.
Perhaps I can borrow a toothbrush while I’m out there…….