I can't remember the last time, I heard someone use this proverb but it's certainly been lurking in the recesses of my mind for the last two weeks. Why? I don't know...but in my head, it's always followed by my dad's signature suggestion: Talk less and do more.
Now, I'm not talking of hell in a place of flaming fire sort of way. Its more at the metaphorical level of the torment that I put myself through because of the innumerable number of good intentions/plans that I set out for myself all the time: to wake up early, give myself regular hours to read for classes, to systematically work on the dissertation, to start figuring out the essays for end of term submissions, to make time to shed those excess calories, to make it for mid week church meetings, to keep up with news and big media happenings, to find a part time job and to cook everyday.
My problem is that I go on an excessive guilt drive when I don't finish what I set out to do on a particular day. And when that happens for a couple of days continuously [during reading week for instance, when I read two entire novels (in my defense, I have read NO fiction for the last six months, which is a LONG TIME!)], I come out feeling so bad that neither chocolate, crisps, diet coke or a new episode of Grey's Anatomy or How I met your mother can make me feel any better. And yet I laze and let the torment continue.
But I'm sick of all this mental tamasha and want to be feel what I felt in a few days in December: the sheer joy of finishing what I sent out to do, of studying without getting distracted, of converting my good intentions into concrete plans and of talking a little less (People who know me well will appreciate the enormity of this decision!). Today's the first day in my race away from metaphorical hell. Wish me luck people!