#booksheld

[plantsrooms]

[larimar]

apartmenttherapy

[absentmoon]

ilove my veritas

[killersfool]

hiiii i’ve a wee fluff imagine idea for bobby!! : )

bobby and the reader live together in a flat in dublin and the reader goes to trinity uni to study english literature (or smt else that has like a lot of reading and essay writing anol that craic) and she’s falling behind in a lot of her assignments and it’s all piling up and she’s just all overwhelmed and doesn’t know how to cope.

she ends up breaking down into sobs or shutting down at random points in the day due to stress and rob hasn’t got a clue what’s wrong and keeps noticing these random break downs throughout the week.

basically he comforts reader and helps to organise herself and just all fluffy cute comfort fic <333

If I could flip back time, bend the seconds and go back three years ago, I would do it right now.

Pile after pile of flashcards, annotated books with pastel post-it notes shooting out of the sides, folders of Irish poetry I can hardly understand, tattered photocopies of Hozier lyrics, every work of Shakespeare staring at me from my overcrowded booksheld — dusty, messy, probably even dank. Miss Carter has decided to set three more assignments onto my workload for the week. An essay on crime fiction (I haven't even read the first book on the reading list), my creative writing portfolio and then another essay analysing a piece poetry of my choice. Reading and highlighting Hozier's lyrics of 'I, Carrion (Icarian)' is the only thing keeping me going. Phoebe Bridgers blasts through my ears. It's quarter to 11. I need a break. An early night would be nice. Or TV. But do I really want to sit next to Robert whilst he watches his weird YouTube videos?

I kick my table. Not out of anger. Not out of irritation. I just want to see all of my notes topple ontp the floor. They do. Then I'm kicking the table three more times. Or maybe eight. All my flashcards are on the carpeted  floor, next to my discarded, empty packet of pinballs. I'd stolen them from Robert's stash. He'll never find out.

Climbing over my pile of unread books by my doorway, I push open the door. It squeaks. Some oiling would be nice. Trinity college really provides the best for their students! 

I still wish my roommate was also doing English, someone to bond with over shared trauma, to gossip about our nightmarish teachers and fellow students. But no, this guy is doing a degree in bloody mathematics. The complete dichotomy of English. No similarities. No way of comparing the courses to eachother. Him and his terrifying videos that he watches with his shoes up on the armrest, cheek in his open palm, drinking a cup of tea. Like it's that simple. Numbers and sin, cos, tan and circle theorems and whatever tragic nonsense is being spouted in his lectures.

He hardly speaks to me. Three years together and I barely know him. Sometimes I tag along with him when he goes out for breakfast. Once every two weeks. Sunday morning. We talk about school, about friends, about anything that pops in our heads. Yesterday we spoke about music. He originally wanted to pursue a career in music. A band. But they didn't work out. He took a gap year to pursue this group. So he's a year older than all of the other third years. He doesn't let that faze him. When he told me stories about his band, 'Inhaler', I had to lose eye contact, look down at the pink marshmellos floating about in my cup. He looked lost. This wasn't the place for him. He missed the confidence upon stage, the ability of making something out of nothing. Life is unfair. That is when I realised it. Hearing about shattered dreams and names of songs that were never produced.

I also realise life is unfair right now, as I accidentally bang my hip onto the kicthen island, the knife-like corner lodging itself into my skin. It's like the world is against me. 

Sometimes I wonder if Robert thinks I'm an idiot. I feel like I'm an idiot when I walk past his bedroom, hunched over his laptop, headphones on as he works through the most difficult maths questions I've ever encountered in my life. He makes university seem easy. Has his allocated times for study, going out with friends, the gym, practicing bass, going though record shops, meals, watching TV. Everytime he gets home, he drops his things down in the kitchen. I sneak a glance at the big green 'A*' on all of his test papers. I look up to him. His intelligence, his masterful management of time. I'm always too frightened to ask him how he does it. He'll think I'm stalking him. 

Me, on the other hand, I waste time. I don't have balance. I never have time to be with my friends. Always locked up in my room. A prisoner. Essay after essay. Poem after poem. Book after book. A constant cycle I've been in for three whole years. The stress is weighing down on me like a hundred bags of bricks. I need to stop for a second. To breathe in. To calm down.

So I do the last thing I would normally do. I go into the living room and sit beside Robert on the sofa. He's half asleep, jeans cuffed, hair all over his face. He sees me walk in, glances up, eyes big and speculting. He instantly moves his spindly, spider-like legs from the armrest to give me some space. I can hear some sort of maths video playing on the TV. I'm scared. At least it's not English. I'm immune to maths. It doesn't affect me anymore. Whatever logorhythmic scale this American YouTube man is yapping about isn't making my face contort at all — it's like sorcery.

This could be a way of winding down. Maths. I'm calmer now. No changes of focus or narrowing of perspective. No pathetic fallacy or magical realism. Just messes of words that don't really make sense at all.

"'D'you want to watch TV? I can turn this off if you want." Robert has his thumb on the home button.

"Leave it on. I just need a moment."

He dubiously puts the remote back down. He yawns, stretching out his arms and leaning back. I hate it when boys do that. With his parted, manspreaded legs, adams apple bobbing, head rolled back. It's idiotic. Completely idiotic. He doesn't seem too intrigued by Mr American man. The video is a guy next to a whiteboard writing millions of brain-numbing equtions. Robert is nodding along. I think I'm going to cry. I don't know why I want to right now. My hip is actually starting to throb and ache. I look down at my jeans. There's a hole in them. There's blood. It's wet. I hadn't noticed before. It's properly pouring out blood.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I exclaim, hand pressing down onto the cut through my jeans.

Robert swiftly nears me. He's looking at me up and down, hands trying to find a place to move to. It's dark in the room. He reaches for the lamp switch. "What is it? Are you okay?"

"I'm bleeding. Jesus christ. That kills. Fuck me."

He passes me his jacket and says, "Apply some pressure." 

Then he runs out of the room. Fast as a plane. A man on a mission. Long curls dancing to the rhythm of his steps. Mr American man won't shut up about algebraic expressions. He's got a really bald head. Glimmering. 

Robert is back. He has bandages. I don't know where he got those from. Antiseptic wipes, plasters, sweets, even a cup of tea. He was only gone for about five seconds. How did he manage to get all of that? He hands me the cup of tea and sweets whilst asking, "What happened?"

"I walked into the island like an eejit. I'm so feckin' stupid."

"Just breathe, okay. You're not an eejit. I do that every day." 

I have to unzip my jeans to let him check the cut. Which is awkward, to say the least. He's looking at me like a doctor — not really caring about seeing my skin — but I'm still so shy around him. He sees me struggle with the button. He undoes it, fingers coming in contact with mine. They're slender. So very perfect for the bass guitar. Then he's unzipping my jeans. Only the tiniest bit. A mere centimetre of my knickers appear out of the top. Any more than that and I'd be flush as a tomato. I've always had a little crush on Robert. Being stuck with a really smart bass guitarist with the dreamiest eyes for three years is enough to make a person fall. The reason I've been avoiding him lately has been due to that fact. I don't want to make it obvious.

He finds the cut. It's bled through my knickers, making a big blot of dark red. He pulls down the waistband of my pants, prepared to wipe the wound. I have to grind my teeth together to prevent a sob from escaping me. I'm crying. Stressed and hurt and just wanting to dissolve into nothing. The cold draft of wind isn't improving the situation. If only there was no such thing as coursework and I couldn't glide my way through university like Robert. 

More and more blood. I think I might pass out. The blue-eyed boy is knelt down on the floor, knees biting into the carpet so that he can properly see where to put the bandage. 

"So how's English going?" He's not looking at me. Only at the wound. I don't think he's noticed that I'm crying. I don't want him to. I cover my face with bloody hands, accidentally smearing the metallic substance onto my nose. 

I don't know what to say. Do I tell him how much I regret picking it? Do I make this already awkward situation about ten times worse? I hate when people pity me. I hate when I feel like eyes are lingering for far too long when I cry. But when Robert looks at me, it's different. The pools of serenity circling his iris aren't looking down at me with a sort of aristocracy. That's how my English peers stare me down. No, instead, he's looking at me like there's a billion questions rushing across his forehead. He just needs to decide which one to ask. Or to simply say nothing. Like I am. We've both learnt how to cohabit in silence. To walk past eachother and ignore the feathers of conversation falling between us. We're busy. Always busy. Except for those perfect Monday mornings that I always look forward to. Especially the one time when he showed me around his favourite record store. He had asked me to choose him a record to buy. I walked through the entire shop, fingers shifting records, reading unfamiliar artist names. Then, I saw it, the — now bane of my existence — Hozier's 'unreal unearth'. He bought it. He'd told me he only really knew 'Take Me To Church'. I'd leant against the till as he paid and said, 'it'll change your life.' Then he'd locked himself in his room. Through the ever so thin walls — paper thin — I could hear each track hum into my room. I never got the chance to talk to him about the album. I think the thought of bringing it up made me feel sick — due to the English essay upstairs still waiting patiently to be finished.

Now there is an excuse. To talk. I'm injured. I don't want to move. He's still attempting to wrap a bandage over my stomach, then across my back until it's around my torso. I feel his fingers graze my skin with every subtle movement, along my spine, the small of my back, my abdomen, my hip bone. He's still looking at me. Searching. Like I'm a new island and he's an explorer trying to name me.

"What's up, sweetheart?" He finally talks again. His words are throaty, emananting from the pits of his throat. He's still wrapping, waiting for an answer.

"Just college. You know. It's killing me."

He shakes his head. "You're so smart."

"Says you."

He shakes his head. "Look, this might be a bit weird but sometimes when you leave random essays lying around or even creative writing. I read them. They're incredible. Your mind just works in such an interesting way."

I'm at a loss for words. He reads those? Those are usually just failed attempts that I toss aside. Scrap paper. Strange drawings. I don't even want to look at them.

"You get top grades in every test," I sigh. "I'm barely passing. I'm the worst in the class. My professors hate me, I've got so much work, I'm falling behind in every assignment—"

Then I'm properly crying. Sobbing. Breathing so heavily I think I might collapse. Heaving. Sniffling. Covering my face so he can't see me. I'm like a child. Pathetic. Stupid. Worthless. I was never good enough for Trinity. Why did they let me in?

Warm arms, press of skin. Just above the wound, over my chest, arms dig into my body, hugging me from behind. Head burrowing onto my shoulders, knees into the sofa. His lips ghost the back of my neck. Tears are falling down. He turns me around to face him. I hate how he's seeing me like this. My cries are usually saved for when he's out with friends or blasting music on his record player. He's never seen me this vulnerable, just utterly ripped into shreds by the hands of life. His scent is making me feel better, the tissue now on my cheek makes me feel better, the quiet words of 'breathe, let it all out, it's okay' make me feel better. He's calming me down. I start to forget what I was even crying about when I look into his eyes. This intense eye contact. Remembering his height. Even sat down, his torso is far longer than mine.

"I've got an idea," he murmurs, peeling his body away. I miss the warmth. I miss the touch. 

"What is it?"

"We should go somewhere. Get out for a bit. Say it's a 'mental health field trip'." He curls his fingers to accentuate the apostrophes."Maybe down to the Cliffs of Moher. When you're all healed up of course."

"Give me a week."

"A week? I'll be the judge of that." He raises an eyebrow, now tying up the bandage.

"Where did you learn all this?"

"I'm actually first aid trained. Did it in my first week of uni." He takes a deep breath, settles back onto the sofa. 

I take a sip of my tea. My eyes are surely blotchy and red. I bet there's mascara all over my face. "Thank you so much."

"No problem at all. Do you want to tell me what's going on? Is there any way I can help?" He's referring to my school work. "I was alright at English in high school. No where near as good as you are. But maybe another opinion might help you."

"I'm really stuck on a Hozier analysis."

"I never told you how much I love that album. It's perfect." His eyes glow like they do when he's talking about something he loves. Usually it's caused by talking about playing bass, but right now it's due to the beauty of Hozier's music. "I learned the bass line of De Selby part two."

"Show me. Now." I don't even ask. It's simply a demand. Anything to take my mind away from that cut still bleeding profusely. A little concert would be nice. Especially if said concert involves watching Robert play bass. I sometimes peek through the crack in the doorway to see him sat down on his bed, pick between his index and thumb, bass guitar on his lap, headphones over his ears. The pure concentration on his face is unparalleled. Notes thrum quietly through the room. He falls into any piece of music.

"Alright." He laughs at my enthusiasm. "Then I'll help with your English."

"Thanks." This is probably the most I've ever spoken to him. I'm mumbling each word, not wanting to look into his eyes.

He disappears once again. This time I hear the thudding footsteps over creaky floorboards. I hear a door squeak open, the faint patter of rain upon the ceiling, the quiet murmur of distant sirens as night blooms. It's tranquil. For a moment, I'm at peace. Until I remember the stack of unread books in my bedroom. I groan into my hands. Everything just keeps getting worse and worse and—

He's back. Not empty handed. Bass in one hand, Hozier lyrics and my pencil case in the other.

"I emailed your professor about the trip. I'm sure she'll be okay with it." He's off again. He comes through the door with his amp and lead. He plugs both in. 

"You're a life saver, Rob," I say.

He starts twisting around the knobs on the bass. Volume up. Then he's tuning. He smiles up at me. I think I'm staring. I think he can tell. His long fingers, tattoos, rings. It's all too much. My fingers are restlessly tapping the armrest. My legs are up on the coffee table. He pulls out his phone and plays the song. Then I'm lost in the music. His eyes are closed as he slides his fingers up and down the neck of the bass, as he stomps his feet down on the carpet to every drum beat. If only I could go back to the days I'd go to concerts every day. If only I could go back and see 'Inhaler' on a world tour, watch Robert from the crowd, completely in his element. Exhilarated, chanting, knowing every lyric like it's my mother tongue. Sometimes I wonder what life could've been like if the band had worked out. If the world did realise just how incredible they are. But, here, appreciating each pluck of every string, the grin as he watches me. I can't take that for granted. 

[thereal-sillyguy]

I DONT USUALLY MAKE IRL POSRS LIKE THIS BUT MY BOOKSHELD JUST FUCKING DIED???? TOO MANY BOOKS IG BUT WTF LMFAO

5/8 OF THE GODDAMN PINS SNAOPED IN HSLF

[ozziesdisco]

AND LIKE IN THE BOOKSHELD THERE WAS SMOME SWEEDEN BOOK?? IDK IT HAD THAT WORK AND IM LIKE WTFFF IS IT SMTH OR IM JUST OVEREACTING

LDLQLLEOE FORESHADOWING FOR SEASON 2?!?!?!?!

[arsenicinshell]

Steampunk Diorama Bookshelf Insert by LaCasaDelleTreBefane

Purchase here 

[xwhatxisxrightx]

xfoodxobsessedx asked: [ SUCK ] ― your muse sucks on a banana / lollipop in front of my muse. (Makoto & Sae)

"Huh?" Sae glanced up from her desk. She'd been working on this case for WEEKS now and hadn't been making ANY progress. How the Hell was she supposed to get these guys behind bars? And more importantly why was Makoto... "Makoto, what are you doing?" Judgmental eyebrow raise as Makoto sucked on a lollipop across from her. "I thought you didn't eat any of that JUNK FOOD...? And why are you doing it so..." She shifted ever-so-slightly. "Like THAT?" Had she been hanging out with that Ann Takamaki again? "Have you been hanging out with those MISCREANTS again? I swear that girl is becoming a worse and worse influence on you..." Or maybe Sae was OVERTHINKING? Maybe subconsciously, the only reason Makoto seemed to be sucking on her lolipop so SEXUALLY was become SAE HERSELF was sexually attracted to... Her... Own... Sister... No. That was INSANE. Makoto was just being corrupted by the people around her. HAD TO BE. -- Had to be...

[siilence]

I want to read them all now.

biggest problem when I have so many TBR’s but some are apart of a long series and some are standalones....

[humanmorph]

whenever im getting frames for my (signed!!!!!!) animorphs print and 2 plant prints i have. i will post pictures

[every-day-is-a-song-glee-syoc]

Really random question, but what does each of the members' bookshelves look like? Like what kind of books do they have (favourite genre, do they buy them just because they're pretty?) , how are they arranged (alphabetically? By genre? By color? Just random?), are they dog-eared and worn or do they look brand new, etc. I re-arranged my own bookshelves today and got curious lol

Clyde – He arranges his based on the vibes. So if he’s in the mood, and he’s got the vibe, it’s easier.

Gabby – She wanted to arrange it by aesthetics, but Mei cannot help herself.

Robert – His bookshelf is full. It is at maximum capacity and still there are more. There is no order, only confusion and good vibes. The ones he reads the most don’t even make it back to the bookshelf. He used to dog ear but had to stop after he got kicked out of the library for it.

Rachel – Rachel used to be (and still is) such a prolific reader. All her books have been on adventures and are kept in such a specific order it drives Emily insane.

Leah – Leah doesn’t have a dedicated bookshelf. It’s a shelf with books and other things. They’re separated into author and again to make them pretty, but there’s so much else in there that she wouldn’t call it a bookshelf. She doesn’t read much, but she is a stickler for respecting her books.

Noah – Noah has a very big bookshelf in no particular order. Like Leah, he has a deep respect for books but can bring himself to make a note in some of his textbooks for later.

Bea – Bea loves to put sticky notes into her books with all her and Jeffery’s random thoughts on them. Each re-read is as exciting as the first time. Just, don’t ask her where they all live. They just exist. Probably somewhere in Jeffery’s room.

Dee – Dee prefers keeping it digital, so what books he does have physically he keeps in his mother’s oversized communal bookshelf. With the exception of Sheldon’s copy of audio engineering for sound reinforcement which is full of notes from eight different engineers.

Astrid – Their hoard of books on all topics are arranged in a system that probably only makes sense to them but that’s okay. She gets it, and regularly reads all of them.

Mei – Her use of the Dewey decimal system is religious, though she has a whole separate shelf dedicated to her schoolbooks and textbooks. She doesn’t read as much as she used to, but all the books are well cared for and each has its own personalised bookmark.

Henry – Henry’s small collection of books vibe up on the shelf. Full of dog ears and tales his misadventures while reading.

Savannah – She loves scattering different books in different places for aesthetic but also functional reasons. Her favourite authors are on a shelf above her bed. All are well loved.

Scarlett – Scarlett’s bookshelf would be very well organised if she could just remember to put them back. She definitely uses dog ears.

Cameron – There are books, and they are places. Where, don’t ask him.

[cow4u]

western death rituals suck and the fact my dad sits on my moms bookshelf in her own room with no proper place for me or others to mourn except street corners we used to see eachother on hurts. I wish there was a physical place to sit with him (like idk.... a graveyard) whenever i wanted. 

[gingerbreadbooks2020]

Bookblr post #40: The End of 2020

It’s finally over. And what a year it has been. Although, given all the horrible crap that everyone’s been through, I think I’ll stick to talking about books for just a moment.

366 days ago, I set out to read 12 books. Probably a pretty average new year’s resolution, maybe I stick out a little given the stacks of unread books on my booksheld - or maybe I don’t. So, how did I do?

Well, long story short, I didn’t make it. I had the same resolution in 2019 as 2020, and neither year [if that’s an English phrase] did I make it. I’m still glad I made this blog though. It’s kept me accountable - for the most part - and being able to spend a bit of time digesting what I’ve read was quite nice too. And, along the way, we gained over 450 followers which I never expected in a million years, so thank you to everyone who followed me this year! 

I read 8 books this year. Given the fact that I didn’t even have to do my final college exams, personally it doesn’t feel too great. However, it was an improvement on the two years previous so it was worth something!

So, what did I read this year?

Well, I kick-started this blog reading The Reader by Bernhard Schlink, a reread of a book I was studying for my A-Level German course. I’ve said this before but I’ll say it again, I really enjoyed being able to read that book for my own enjoyment. If you’re into that area of history or just German history, I really recommend the read. Of course it’s not a work of non-fiction, but it’s one of those pieces which really helps you understand the feelings of the people at that time while also not betraying the interesting storyline.

My second book was The Shining by Stephen King. This was a continued read from the previous year. I’d never read a King novel before this, and horror has never been my favourite genre, be it book, film, or video game. However I really enjoyed The Shining and King’s narration and writing style. I don’t know if I;d recommend it for people like myself who’ve never read a King novel before as it is quite a long one, but it was a really good book. I found it took a little while to get into the action, so to speak, but once it did it was really worth it!

After that was a book I bought in 2020, called Faeries, Elves & Gnlins by Rosalind Kerven. This was a really fun book for me because it was just a bunch of short stories about, well, faeries, elves and goblins from Britain and the British Isles. I know many cultures have their own myths and legends, so it was nice to learn about such legends coming from tiny, unhead of towns and villages from the country I live in!

My fourth book this year was technically Macbeth... I did take a break and finish two other books in said break, but it’s next in line. I mostly wanted to read Macbeth simply because I had had to study it for my GCSE English class [which was around 3 or 4 years ago!] and simply never finished reading it. I don’t really know if I’m a Shakespeare person, maybe it’s just because it was a play which I’m not really a big fan of reading? Macbeth is a classic so I don’t think I can fault it. I guess English classes kind of ruined it for me so I can’t say it was a gripping read, but I’m not discouraging you from reading it. And honestly I’m rambling at this point so I’ll move on.

One of the books I read while on a break from Macbeth was Dad Bods by Robyn Sparkes, which is actually a story on Wattpad. I’ll be honest, I can’t really remember the whole story, although I know that I enjoyed reading it. If you’re looking for stories about a middle-aged man realising he’s gay, this is the story for you!

After that was Korean manhwa called Killing Stalking and... how do I describe Killing Stalking? I remember finding it several years ago - I was far too young to be reading it in reality - and the story wasn’t finished yet, so I just read what was there and left it, forgot it for years. Then, early summer this year, I started remembering it, went back and realised it was finished. The story is, put most simply, NSFW. Lots of warnings, I won’t lie. If you know what I mean when I say this, it basically ticks all of the AO3 archive warnings [apart from the underage one [I think!]] so obviously don’t read if those themes may upset you or disturb you. It’s definitely advertised as a psychological thriller by the creator, it’s not a romance novel or anything of the sort, please believe me when I say this. Do I still recommend it? I’m going to step back and let you assess it for yourself given everything I’ve just said.

Obviously after those two I went back and finished Macbeth, but then I think I took a break [unannounced, unplanned]. It was then that I read Volume 1 of the One Piece manga by Eiichiro Oda to get back into reading. It was fun, easy to dip in and out of, and a really simple read. Which is a good thing, I promise. Sometimes books can be big and confusing and they don’t need to be. Books don’t have to be groundbreaking in order to be good, they just need to be enjoyable. 

The eighth and final book that I read and finished in 2020 was To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee. I’d never read it before, never studied it for English class, and only had the briefest knowledge of what even happens in the story. All I have to say is, if you haven’t read it already, please do. You can read textbooks and understand events, but books offer a more personal insight into these things. Much alike with The Reader, you can just see things in a way you couldn’t with a textbook or history lesson. Perhaps it’s easier to empathise this way? Either way, please read it. 

I did start reading The Picture of Dorian Gray, unfortunately I didn’t finish it so I won’t really talk about it here, hopefully next year though?

All in all, I’ve enjoyed having this blog. I’ve enjoyed having somewhere to talk about the book I’m reading without my friend telling me to shut up. 

And, despite not reaching my goal this year, I’m optimistic for 2021. I want to keep going with this blog, hopefully I’ll reach my goal this year. Coming home for Christmas from Uni means that now, when I sit in bed, my bookshelf is opposite me and I can see all my unread books and I’m getting excited to read them. Luckily lockdown meant I haven’t been out buying more and more books recently. 

Thank you for following, for liking, for reblogging. Having this little blog has been pretty helpful in 2020. I hope we all have a successful 2021!

- Gingerbread ♤

[dandraw75]

LA PROCRASTINACIÓN EN TU VIDA

   Se debe trabajar en forma extraordinaria para tener resultados extraordinarios, apartando la procrastinación. La procrastinación es proteger el ego. Un adulto que le dice que nunca tiene tiempo es una excusa.

    Tu tiempo es el valor apreciado para invertir, debes comprar más tiempo. Nosotros validamos las excusas en la procrastinación. ¿Por qué procrastinamos tanto?. Hay que tener disciplina para vencer la procrastinación. Perder el tiempo no es igual distraerse, siempre y cuando si estás consciente que distes los pasos para avanzar, siempre y cuando no sustituyas lo que estás haciendo. Lo importante es que no te domine en lo que ibas hacer en el día. Debemos cumplir nuestras promesas de lo que queremos hacer, es decir, hay que ser responsable; una clave importante es buscar una persona que le controle sus metas alcanzables o que sean realistas, es decir, el tiempo administrarlo en la fecha para cumplir; que no tiene que ver con dinero. A menos que hay motivos o fuerzas mayores que te impidan hacer una actividad.

PASOS PARA DISCIPLINARTE Y EVITAR LA PROCRASTINACIÓN

1) Reconocer que Procrastinamos:

    Posponemos una tarea indefinidamente si enfocamos en realizar una tarea y no distraerse en lo que hacemos; o se dan el caso que tenemos muchas tareas y no le damos prioridad de lo que queremos hacer, eso quiere decir que perdimos el tiempo todo el día.

2) Causa de la Procrastinación: ¿Por qué Procrastinamos?

    Al eludir las tareas, si es difícil, te aburres, la mala organización es un elemento de la procrastinación, y es muy frecuente cuando lo hacemos en el día a día. Es necesario hacer un listado de actividades. Por ejemplo el miedo es una tendencia más que el fracaso, es común en las personas, son miedos a crecer financieramente o a la producción en su mercado.

3) Optar Estrategias en contra de la Procrastinación:

    Es hábito que está arraigado en tu ser, y no se resuelve de la noche a la mañana, los hábitos dejan de ser hábitos o cuando te reprogramas con hábitos que cumplan con una función diferente; que te pueda disciplinar haciendo cosas distintas por ejemplo: te levantas de la cama vas al baño te lavas el rostro, te cepillas los dientes todos los días. ¿Cómo lo cambias? Te levantas de la cama en vez de ir al baño vas primero en preparar el café, luego  vas al baño a afeitarte y después te cepillas los dientes. En el segundo mes tercer mes va hacer difícil hasta que te disciplines o se te hace automático cuando realices todo el proceso.

4) Componente Psicológico:

    No debes castigarte porque postergaste al pensar en el pasado, no importa no es necesario que te tortures por no haber hecho esa actividad, la buena noticia es enfocarte hacia adelante.

5) Comprometerte con la Tarea:

    Se debe grabar un podscat, grabar un video en you tube, o abrir un negocio solo o realizar una alianza con un socio, escribir un libro digital, postear en las redes  sociales, hágalo, comprométete en cumplir con las tareas.

    Debo escribir los verbos para cumplir las tareas en tu lista, sin evitar o eludir las tareas, por ejemplo: “Yo debo buscar un modelo del Capítulo 1 como muestra que me exige el dominio ebook BOOKSHELD en la página internet, para adaptarlo en mi capítulo 1 como propuesta de mi ebook,” “Para mí es importante finalizar los contenidos de mi curso de Networking antes del 16 de agosto del presente año”.

6) Recompénsate después de cumplir con tus metas:

    Cuando culminas la tarea en el tiempo señalado, otórgate un disfrute personal, por ejemplo, cómprate un helado, un shawarma de pollo con crema de yogur, de pimentón o de arveja, una ración de torta de auyama por ejemplo.

7) Una persona que controle tus metas:

    Es importante pedirle a alguien que te controle tus metas, la presión de grupo es fundamental para el cumplimiento desde el punto de vista positivo.

8) Actuar sobre la marcha:

    Enfrentar las tareas a diario no dejar las cosas que se acumulen.

9) Reformular las afirmaciones que debo hablar conmigo mismo:

    Por ejemplo cuando decimos:  “Necesito hacer esta tarea”, “Tengo que hacer tal cosa”; en vez de expresar estas frases, se deben cambiar “Yo elijo realizar esta tarea porque es bueno. Tiene implicancia porque eres dueño de tus actividades.

10) Evitar las distracciones:

    Es necesario concentrarte en tu actividad evita la televisión  o la radio que puede distraer, la tarea más horrible o fuerte que no te gusta hacer debes terminarla como sea.

   Es necesario establecer un tiempo para culminar tus tareas con planificación, programación para que obtenga éxito en tu vida.

[irlvulpix]

i need to do some spring cleaning ughh thatll be next up on my to do list

[natrozmarniewichillustration]

Black & White Page

Here it is!!! I’m very excited to see my colouring page as lineart. I added more details from my rough, like making the booksheld full of wood grain and carved wood detailing. There are a few hidden faces in the bookshelf to show that it’s also a monster; it’s a haunted bookshelf. I added a bit more story to Michael, the monster wiht the really long tail. His tail is touching the bottom jar when it says specifically not to touch, so he’s a bit of a brat. I changed the cat-cus plant to a flower plant; I think it makes more sense this way, the shape was a bit awkward before and the flower is cuter.

I would’ve liked to add some wallpaper on the back of the shelf, however it looked very awkward behind the glass jars and tanks. I could leave the back blank and allow the space to hold the characters, or fill it up with a flowery wallpaper and not have the wallpaper go through the jars. If I made the jars actually see through with wallpaper behind them, it would look very cluttered. I also attempted to add nametags for each monster set on the back of the shelf but realized it wouldn’t add much to colour, and it’s more fun to let everyone else name the monsters themselves.

Overall, I think I’m happy with the result. More so I’m content that I pushed myself to extrapolate a ton of ideas through the thumbnail phase and came up with a decent, colourable concept.