Any number of things.
I could be productive in so many ways.
I could procrastinate by making another list under the guise of "time management."
I could call Writer's Digest and ask them to tear up the check I accidentally sent them for almost three times more than the monthly subscription was for. (I sent them my car and rental insurance money instead. Online banking can be treacherous--what with the payees being alphabetized and the teeny payment boxes so close to each other.)
I could do some required reading that I've put off for months and months and months.
I could figure out a way to buy Turbo Tax to do my taxes (but I don't have the $79.99 to buy it), or I could send my info to my accountant (but I don't have the $120 to pay him.)
I could keep eating chocolate.
I could email my ex-husband about the visitation changes I need to make for the summer.
I could mow my lawn.
I could clean my son's bedroom.
I could make a behavior chart for my son so he knows what needs to be done before he can play video games.
I could read my book.
I could journal some of my angst away.
I could make myself lunch.
I could write a real blog post.
I could update my LibraryThing and GoodReads wishlists with the new book titles I want.
I could put the last edits into the e-booklet I wrote about grieving.
I could do some
I could write my talk on art and processing negative emotions that I'm giving next month.
I could call a winery and chocolatier about sponsoring an event I'm hosting.
I could email my graphic designer and ask her WHY I still don't have the event poster I ordered at the end of March.
But I'm frightened that I won't actually do any of them, and then tomorrow I'll be complaining that I just don't have enough time in the week to get my things done!
How's that for irony?