I’m a champion procrastinator. Some, who shall remain nameless (temporarily), consider this trait a gaping character flaw, however, before the ridiculously prompt rush to judgment allow me to explain the benefits of last minute life.
To be clear, my I’ll-Do-It-Tomorrow attitude never applies to the needs of family, writing deadlines, or hygiene. Don’t want any of you conjuring the unsettling image of me in bon-bon stained yoga pants as my waif-like children forage for sustenance – I’m a sports Mom, not Honey Boo Boo. No, my procrastination is more harmless, more about savoring the moment and sacking the to-do list for a rainy day. (Truth be told, on rainy days I’ll probably write or nap.)
For instance, I’m a weekend HGTV addict. Those brilliant do-it-yourself home fixer-upper suggestions seem so plausible on Saturday morning. HA! Sunday, the skilled labor hangover kicks in. Hubby and I stare at each other over unopened paint cans and the nail gun the tool belt wearing Fix-My-Money-Pit Super Stud claimed we HAD to have and reality sets in – we are neither skilled nor laborious.
Trips to the gym, formerly number one on my But-The Notebook’s-On-I-Can’t-Leave-The-House list of procrastination excuses slid into last place post 40th birthday. The annoying need to live past 50 keeps me going. That, and the fact the treadmills have TV. Nothing says one more mile fatty pants like a Downton Abbey marathon. (Even though Matthew’s exodus has me uber miffed!)
Easily the number one thing I put off until tomorrow is laundry folding. I wash, dry, and shove into baskets like a well-oiled Maytag, but folding? Not gonna’ happen. Life is too short to crease boxer shorts. And ironing, don’t get me started. (This causes my mother to weep.)There’s a reason God made wash & wear – me!
Raise your glasses friends! Here’s to balance! May your life-goal scale carry equal weight between obligation and procrastination. Unless The Notebook is on – then all bets are off.