Becalmed (LynnK)

That’s me.

Well, it’s actually kelp undulating like a belly dancer in the ocean current. The bulb-like thingie on the left keeps the graceful top fronds afloat, where they can gather light. Way below, a "hold-fast" (looking something like tentacles wrapped around a rock) prevents the sea-plant from floating away.

Bull kelp just pretty much floats and sucks in sunlight and grows, usually about 6 inches a day. Off the San Diego coast, it is sometimes harvested by funny-looking boats for use in, oh, ice cream and paint and asphalt and ketchup.

That’s a lot more useful than I have been of late. Coastal May Gray and June Gloom are finally surrendering to summer in Coronado, but I keep thinking it’s still February. That’s when I made plans to accomplish wonders, explore long-postponed interests, declutter my living space, and finish a book in a new-to-me genre "on spec." Also re-string my untouched-since-1984 guitar and learn again how to play. Badly. I was always a lousy guitarist.

Instead, I float, and soak in the sunlight, and sometimes sing, and sometimes write, and generally dither.

Meantime, all around me, friends are undergoing major life-changes. Divorces. New Loves. Grandchildren. Caregiving. Empty nests. Health setbacks. Career advances. They are brave. Intrepid. Real troupers. I am . . . a slacker.

Or maybe I’m ADD. It’s not just for teenagers any more. I start projects, lots of them, with enthusiasm. Which lasts until I notice something else that needs doing, and so I zig in that direction. And notice something else and zag in that direction. And the next. And the next.

Looking around me right now, I see a dozen projects long since begun and long after still undone. Weeks ago I wrote about trying to set up my new Vista-equipped laptop. When I left you, the green light of a hibernating Dell 6400 was blinking ominous messages at me. It still is. Or, I presume it is. In this small apartment, space is limited. The new laptop, apparently a permanent ornamental fixture on a small end table, is now covered with a canvas tote bag, a folder I use for music scores, yet another unread Newsweek magazine (open to Anna Quindlen’s column because I love her stuff), two paper towels, a receipt from Ross, and an empty plastic sandwich bag.

Even when I get my act together, all occasions do inform against me. It’s been a little too cold and gloomy for me to do water aerobics in the excellent municipal pool. which is set on a narrow landstrip between the ocean and the bay. The sun no sooner goes down than an arctic (OK, mildly cold) wind springs up and chills me to the bone.

Nonetheless, determined to lose some pounds before the Romance Writers of America Conference in July, I kitted myself out in swimsuit, aquashoes, "rash guard" with extra thermal protection, and trundled a mile to the pool.

That was two weeks ago. Wouldn’t you know the pool was undergoing its annual checkup and refurbishing. So last Monday, I regarbed myself and showed up ready to set new exercise records for a member of The Society of Chlorinated Ladies. Only to learn the pool would be closed for another week. Who knows what I’ll find next Monday, when I give it yet another go?

Oh, well. No point worrying about my current lack of productivity. Fact is, I only work well under deadline or when I’m feeling really good about what I’m doing. Which I do, actually, when it comes to writing. It’s probably all about not being under contract for this book. I feel as if I’m auditioning yet again, and auditioning paralyzes me. Performing has always been easy. Acting, singing, teaching, giving speeches . . . piece 'o cake. And when a a publisher wants a book from me, I am imbued with the confidence to deliver. But with writing and singing and almost everything else, auditions always send me into panic.

Pretty boring, I know. Nothing like what my friends are going through. And while I’m not terribly productive for the nonce, I’m happily doing things I enjoy. This morning, I’ll be registering voters after a naturalization ceremony. Tomorrow I’ll spend at an all-day choral workshop. Sunday there’s a barbeque, and I’m making my excellent potato salad for thirty people. Um, make that twenty-nine. I’m in pre-Conference diet mode.

Please tell me I'm not the only one ever succumbed to a bout of Kelp Syndrome. Fellow victims, how do you snap yourself out of the doldrums?