time to waste is wasted on me

I can't get out of my own way today. It's not that I don't want to do anything, I do. I want to do everything. I'm battling contrary urges to go to work, to stay home, to do some writing, to read that book I bought about writing, to cook something, to clean the kitchen- I do want to clean the kitchen, it looks like we're having an estate sale in there...
I want to plant my garden, which would involve trucking four big bags of soil across the lawn in the wheelbarrow, which is full of lawn clippings, which I'd have to empty, but don't have any of those yard waste bags. I want to rebuild the mesh frame over the garden bed, which will be like wrestling with spider webs. I should be picking the thousands of maple seedlings that are covering my side hill like grass. It hurts my back to think about it all (and yet I want it done so bad and want to be doing it) that I think I ought to do some yoga. I should make massage appointments for us, and one for a perm for me, so I'll have cute curls poking out from under my graduation cap next month, but it's Sunday and tomorrow's a holiday, so I'll have to wait, and when Tuesday comes around I'll be too distracted to make any appointments.
I wish I could do that thing that Samantha did on Bewitched. Not wiggle my nose- I mean, that would be cool, but in reality (?) she couldn't do it either- she mostly just wiggled her pursed lips, and we just went with it, because we knew what she meant to do. I mean the fast-forwarding, the instant-doing. I want to go to work but the picking out the clothes and the showering and the drying and the dealing with my hair and face pre-exhaust me.
So here I am, using my time up until I have to go, have to do something, and the running-out time will direct me to pick what has to be done and ignore what can't be, yet. Okay, here I go.