It’s Procrastination

I have a paperweight on my desk that reads, “The Ultimate Inspiration Is the Deadline.”

I am a professional procrastinator. The paperweight reminds me that whatever I fail to accomplish will eventually be rescued by a deadline.

Recently, I read a cheery article suggesting we should think of procrastination as “pre-creation.” Apparently, we aren’t avoiding the work. We’re letting our ideas incubate.

My BS meter went off.

No. It’s procrastination.

Even the psychological explanation tests the meter. Psychologists say procrastination isn’t really about time. It’s about avoiding discomfort.

Really? We put things off because we don’t want to do them? Maybe they have a point.

I can find 25 things to do instead of going to the gym. The dishwasher needs unloading. The plants need water. Gabby is looking at me as if I have neglected her since breakfast. It is 8 a.m.

By the time the dishwasher is unloaded, the plants are watered, and Gabby has stopped giving me that look, I have no energy left for the gym.

There is always tomorrow.

Medical appointments are another favorite. I will worry about something for three weeks before spending five minutes making the appointment that might stop me from worrying about it.

I put off difficult conversations, too. Why deal with something promptly when I can think about it at 3 a.m., rehearse what I should say, and let the situation get worse on its own?

We all have our specialties. I have put off cleaning my attic until it looks as if a tornado hit the Container Store. Everything is technically in a bin, but half of it is hanging out. Some women clean the garage instead of making one necessary phone call. Others weed the flower beds until the weeds start looking like flowers, too.

Laundry is always available when something unpleasant needs avoiding. Who knew one woman could produce so much of it?

I excel at washing laundry and not putting it away. I take the clean clothes to the bedroom and dress from the pile until the next mountain of dirty laundry appears. I can tell how long it has been since the last wash by counting the T-shirts and panties.

There are also creative ways to procrastinate. Years ago, we had to rely on laundry or cleaning a drawer. Now we have Facebook Marketplace, ChatGPT, and the entire internet. Likewise labeling the spices in alphabetical order is always available in a pinch.

Thanks to Facebook Marketplace, I can tell you which chairs, lamps, and slightly used outdoor planters are available within 20 miles of my house.

I don’t need any of them.

I can go into ChatGPT, ask one question, and disappear into a tunnel of camera equipment, travel arrangements, medical office, and things I didn’t know I needed to know.

Meanwhile, the email requiring more than “Thank you” or “Sounds good” remains unanswered.

And I have not been to the gym.

All my art supplies are on the table so I can work on a painting this week. They have been waiting patiently. Paints are good that way.

I don’t believe in writer’s block, at least not for myself. I am a writer. I write. Most of the time, I write at the last minute.

I spent much of my career in news, where the deadline always won.

This morning, I woke up without an article planned. I had procrastinated all week. The list of reasons was endless. I was tired of the heat, nagging medical issues, and too many responsibilities. I didn’t have it in me.

But there was still the deadline.

I am officially four hours late in submitting this column to my designer.

The paperweight was right.