I’m going to open up and tell you something private — I have close to 50 unfinished documents on my laptop alone. These scripts range from almost completed blog posts about motherhood to questionably written erotica to ponderings as to why I have such terrible skin. And to complete my array of fragmentary masterpieces I have a first copy sci-fi fiction novel which I have yet to name.
My basement is reminiscent to an episode of Hoarders.
No, no let me rephrase. I am surprised none of my family members have yet to nominate said basement for the actual show — it looks as though it has been plucked straight from the program itself. I was down there yesterday trying to find a spare corner for the Christmas decorations and I thought I heard some rustling. My first thought was not that it may be a furry rodent but that a hobo had somehow slipped into the place and set up residence amid my stack of laminate flooring (that I swear we are installing this spring — said last winter) and the enormous TV that stopped working three years ago. Yes, I thought, there is definitely a hobo living in my laden basement.
Commence running frantically upstairs while imagining a strongly bearded homeless man chasing me with a decapitated chicken clutched tightly in his angry cellar-dwelling fist.
The treadmill is collecting dust and in turn I’ve collected a few extra pounds.
I have an entire drawer full of mismatched socks that I intend to make sock puppets out of. The kids and I will then fabricate a masterful production of The Sound of Music solely using foot-shaped marionettes. Dibs on Liesl!
I have books to read, and reread, since I cannot for the life of me accept the fact that I’ve just read a great book and carry on with my life. Nope, I must read it over and over and over again; desperately seeking any new miniscule bit of information I may have missed the first 10 times I read it.
(I should probably get around to seeing that therapist one of these days, too.)
I have volunteer hours at my kids’ school that need to be attained. Because, well, all the other moms seem to manage to do their hours and I’ve got to keep up with the damn Joneses, right?
Oh yes and my 29th birthday is quickly approaching and I am feeling the weight of occupational opportunity rapidly whizzing by my waning eyes.
So here I sit in my plaid flannel PJs pondering this ever-evolving life of mine. The New Year is just around the bend, which calls for the ever present resolution trend. This is a time where we dissect the very essence that is our life and nitpick the crap out of ourselves. Then turn around and in a vain attempt make our egos feel better, resolve to stop doing all of the dumb stuff that deflated those egos in the first place.
So I guess the common denominator in my case is my complete and utter use of procrastination.
Shall I do some writing? You know, finish one of the hundreds of pieces of work I have saved in that mysterious sanctuary of the Word Kingdoms. …Nah I think I’ll catch the newest Bob’s Burgers … then I’ll write something. Maybe.
Oh, hey, this would be a great time to clean the basement of all those squatting hobos. But on second thought, I should probably have some backup on that one … I’m sure it can wait until a more opportune time. And just like that the vicious cycle of procrastination drags me down into the pit of despair (that’s for all of my fellow Princess Bride fans) and if you didn’t get that reference I am now forced to subject you to The Machine! Just one moment while I get my albino friend. …
See! I even end up stalling while I’m trying to explain to you my hitches with procrastination.
So I have made it my steadfast goal this New Year’s to work on this awkward procrastination situation. Because surely I will need to get over this awful affliction before I can rectify the other areas of concern in my life.
I have made up my mind. I will do this — and I will be successful in my quest to stifle the procrastination from my life forever. How liberating it will be to think about doing something and actually do it. How marvelous it will feel to have the smooth satisfaction of completion under my belt. How unbelievably excited I am for this new chapter! And I will begin … right after fix myself a sandwich.
Happy New Year, my friends, and may your 2015 be more accomplished than mine.
Lindsay Brown is a Sylvan Lake mother of two and freelance columnist.