BoomerGirl Diary

Recently, I saw a comedian draw a pie chart about procrastination. The chart consisted of only a large empty circle.

I can’t imagine anyone who procrastinates more than me. Anyone who is sitting upright and dressed, that is. Later is always a better time for me to do just about anything. If I just wait a bit, I’ll be better prepared, more alert, and have more time available to devote to the project. Tomorrow is just a day away, and I am always certain that it will be a better time get busy with whatever needs to be done.

Few events spur me on to finishing up projects and tying up loose ends the way a looming trip-departure date does. Not only do I tackle reasonable and expected chores such as finishing up the laundry and using up the perishable food, but I try to finish the stack of clothes that I have been intending to mend. I decide closets need to be cleaned out. All those garments that haven’t been worn in this millennium need to be donated to some lucky charity. I clean out the refrigerator, and organize the pantry. Why stop at taking the recyclable cans and jars to the drop-off site? It is time to go through all of those saved-for-later magazines. Time to gather up all of the batteries that are scattered about the house in and out of their packaging, then cull out the dead batteries. Take the expired batteries to the hazardous waste drop-off. Get my hair cut. Get my teeth cleaned. Sweep out the garage. Mulch the garden. That back section of the fence never has gotten painted. Is there time for that? Small wonder I am usually tired and frazzled by the time we actually roll out of the driveway. Wait, better wash the car and vacuum it out.

All of these jobs have been put off for months, some for years. There is little reason to feel that all of the projects that I have been procrastinating about need to be finished before we leave town. We ARE coming back, after all, and what is another three months to a job that has been ignored for years?

As my husband and I prepare to leave for a sabbatical in New Zealand, I find myself dyeing fabric. (I make quilts and textile art with this fabric ... eventually.) I’m not taking the fabric with us, but the dye was mixed up last summer and has been waiting to be used since then. It might not still be good by the time we return. Some of the dye may not still be useable now. But throwing it out unused seems to add an additional layer of guilt to the sin of not getting around to using it at all. So, when we arrive in New Zealand, I guess I can say well, maybe I forgot the toothpaste, but back home there are 35 yards of bright new fabric freshly ironed and neatly stacked.