Things to be done, but what?

(Found via StumbleUpon; link embedded on picture)

I have mentioned earlier, yesterday in fact, that I am very scatterbrained.  You could see me toiling away in front of the book one minute, and surfing the web the next.  I know I did not say that I was, in fact, a scatterbrain, but it is very easy to deduce that, is it not?  I am finding it very hard right now to keep typing and stay away from the web browser (I use Windows Live Writer to write blogs, which I found to be quite useful), or doing anything else for that matter.  Other thoughts preoccupy me as well; I should be working on a report paper that is quite long and due in two days, and I should go back home and mow lawn and tidy up the room, and I should be choosing my major and get a summer job and/or an internship.  Well, it is not really happening right now.  I am trying to tie myself down to one task and one task only.  Take it for what it is.

I do find ways to remedy this situation, this series of distractions from hell, that is preoccupying my life, preventing myself from having one.  Now, I would also like to say that I do not necessarily mind this lifestyle; rather, I am deeply troubled by the fact—and my knowledge—that such lifestyle is unsustainable.  Never should I have to depend on my parents for shelter, food, or health insurance unless I have to, especially if I am already close to the mid-20s.  There is another depressing thought—while I was lollygagging at nothing in particular, others are getting ahead in life, moving beyond what I ever was.  So far, a few things I found that works (to various degree, and no pun intended) to get things done are:

• Setting timeline
• Setting schedule
• Making outlines / steps and following it
• Being asked by others

But I cannot set up a deadline or schedule or make step-by-step instructions if I could not be arsed to do it.  So, basically, I only do things that others tell me to do.  If I had something to stand behind and such, I would already be in Harvard, finishing up medical school, probably.

Which brings up the picture at the start.  Could my apathy—or laziness, if it were—the cause of all this?  If I had something I truly cared about and not lived merely another day, perhaps I would be in a better situation.  Never mind that I am like this because I am introverted; I could have learned more things if I went out to try new things.  Never mind that I have an accent from hell; it could have been remedied—to what extent, I do not know—if I took classes or used the learning material I have at home.  Everything can be tied to how I did not care enough.

So, what would make myself care?