CNPS numbers spotted 2 (905).
Why have I left everything so late? When will I ever learn? When I ask you? There's less than 3 weeks to go til the show opens in Edinburgh and I have only a third of a script, none of the tech stuff required and at least four tasks to complete (as well as 94 CNPS numbers to spot).
I hate the me of the past with a passion. By the me of the past, I mean the me that was alive about a month ago and had plenty of time to get on with things, but who prevaricated and just kept looking up stuff on the internet. Why didn't he just try and write for one hour a day more than he did? Why didn't he say, "Oh fuck it, I'll go and do that Argos task today. I might as well get it over with"? Why was he such a buffoon. Unlike the me of the present who he has right royally landed in it.
I have more respect for the me of the future to treat him like that. I mean it would be easy enough for me to kill myself now and thus cleverly get myself out of having to write and rehearse my show. But how would that affect the life and happiness of the me of September 2004. I think it would be detrimental. I don't think the future me would enjoy it one bit. Instead of being above ground, walking about, eating Rolo ice creams and wishing he'd worked a bit harder on his show so August hadn't been such a disaster, he'd just be staying still under the ground and beginning to rot. Or maybe blowing on the wind in ash form. So I'm not going to commit suicide. Out of respect for that future me.
Of course I might live to regret that if the me of the future turns out to be the new Hitler. I could have stopped him right here and now and I would have that on my conscience forever. But if I was the new Hitler, I probably wouldn't care about my conscience. It's unlikely in any case. I lack the necessary charisma.
Unfortunately the mes of April-June and most of July 2004 weren't as considerate as the me of today and they just sat around doing nothing and watching Diagnosis Murder. I wish I could watch Diagnosis Murder too, but they've spoilt all that. I have to sit at my computer, looking blankly at the screen, wondering how on earth I am ever going to get all the stuff I need to say into the space of an hour.
And there's nothing I can do to get them back for their complacency, because those old mes are housed safely in the past where I can do them no harm.
I am considering spending the next three weeks inventing a time machine, so I can go back a couple of months and give the me of May a good kick in the arse. And also a copy of the script that I've got now. Giving him a head start on his work. And I'll keep going back and kicking his arse and giving him updated scripts until his arse is red and the show is finished. I estimate it will only take about four years to do it. And that way the may me ends up doing all the hard work and all I have to do is invent time-travel.
And so the prevarication continues. The me of the 16th July is going to hate the me of now for wasting all this time on what is surely one of the more disappointing editions of Warming Up.
