Procrastination is a thing as evil as Sauron or Voldemort or Fox Network cancelling Firefly. How is it that I will gear myself up for a day of writing and then all of a sudden decide that there are a dozen other things that I need to do first?
Of course, doing the laundry is something of a necessity in this life, as is the grocery shopping. You could argue that checking email is also vital – what if someone has sent an urgent message and is waiting to hear back from me? But checking Gmail naturally leads to ‘a quick glance’ at Facebook and, before I know it, an hour has gone by and the notebook still has not been opened (although I am significantly better informed about my friends’ assorted tribulations and exultations).
After that, the procrastinating starts to get a bit ridiculous. I am perfectly happy to put up with my disgracefully filthy car for weeks and weeks and then, just as I am about to sit down and write, it is suddenly imperative that I take it to the car wash. So I end up with a shiny, clean car and the vaguest recollection that there was something else I was supposed to be doing.
It is a clear signal that my procrastination has reached new heights when I stare out the window and toy with the idea of weeding the overgrown garden. That is usually when I come to my senses and finally pick up my pen with renewed resolution. The simple act of writing down the date is a clever tactic as it forces me to follow it up with at least a sentence or two. The third sentence comes a little easier, the fourth one almost flows, and at last I am no longer looking for distractions.
The neighbours will just have to look out at the weeds for a little longer.