I procrastinate – I put things off, I bury my head in the sand – well, not literally you understand, that would be pretty terminal – but I am definitely one of life’s putter offers. I still get a horrid feeling on Sunday afternoons, forty-one years after leaving full-time education, because this is the time in the week, when I will have to get all the homework done, ready for school on Monday. I would of course have had plenty of time to get it done, but not until the eleventh hour, would I actually manage to sit at the desk and get it done.
I’d like to think that in the intervening years since I left school, I might have managed to overcome this rascally little character trait, I’d like to think that I’m now one of those people who carefully plans her time and her schedule, one of those paragons of virtue who never leave a bill unpaid until the red reminder – or the court summons – turns up, or that most idyllic of heroines, the woman who always has plenty of fuel in her car tank because she thinks about filling up before the red light does its manic flashing routine.
I’d really like to think that’s who I am now, but in truth, I’d be kidding. There are some things I’ll do fairly fast – I’ll email my best friend in Australia when she wants something, I’ll grab my purse and the car keys the moment I decide I need something from TK Maxx, but beyond that, well, I’ll get round to it, sometime.
I’ve just refined one of my new business ideas from the primal slop that is my imagination, into an elementally rough pencil draft on paper. This means that I now have ‘something to do’ and I’m going to be getting on with it – anytime now. Just as soon as the kettle boils and I make a coffee, oh and it’s stopped raining now, so I’ll put the washing on the line too – shouldn’t take long.