Procrastination
"Every duty which is bidden to wait returns
with seven fresh duties at its back."
Charles Kingsley
Procrastination is taking the dog to get her nails clipped.
Procrastination is listening to the sound of someone else's lawn mower.
Procrastination is feeling like you'd like to take a good long nap even though you just got up an hour ago.
Procrastination is listening to the cat crunch on her kibble, one piece at a time.
Seems like I'm spending a lot more of my time avoiding certain tasks than actually doing them. I have one more room to paint. The furniture has been moved into the center of the room. The blue plastic drop cloth (a family heirloom I feel sure crossed the Cumberland Gap when the first Old Man Webb settled his wagon in the Smokey Mountains) has been spread on the floor for days. I just can't seem to get motivated.
Could it be the smoke in the air?
Could it be a seemingly unending period of grief?
Could it be old fashioned laziness?
Could it be avoidance?
Perhaps a little of all of that.
I really must get up and move, even if it is only to fold the laundry.
Move Merry ME. Move.
See Merry ME Move.
Go girl. Go.
Procrastination is channeling a Dick and Jane book from the first grade. Good golly, Miss Molly, what a treasure trove of trivia is locked in my brain.
Today, I'm grateful I am not homeless. Oh sure, with a home comes lots of jobs I'd rather not do, but there are also some perks. Like walls between me and the smoke. Like air conditioning that filters the smoke.
I'm grateful I don't have to work outside.
I'm grateful for the luxury of procrastination.
Wishing you a day without smoke, a few chores to get through so when you sit down you can throw yourself into rest.
Merry ME
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