The check is in the mail

I have made the art of procrastination my life’s work.  And it is an art.  

Many people have tried and failed to reach the level of “never do today what you can put off ‘til tomorrow” that I have achieved.  But not everyone is cut out for the life of a chronic foot dragger.  It comes as naturally to me as breathing.  I have the laundry and unpaid utility bills to prove it.

Do what you know, right?

Time is a concept I’ve never really grasped.  Everything takes longer than I think it will; the later I get, the slower my feet move.  And it’s not just passive aggressive behavior, all you therapists out there.  It’s who I am.

My family loves to entertain; we throw great parties and barbecues.  Traditionally, friends and family know that if we say we’re going to eat at two, it’s ok to show up at three.  It’s a rhythm of life.  Never mess with the rhythm, man.

Once, tired of all the disparaging remarks and endless late jokes, I decided to make a change.  Punctuality was going to be my new way of life.  It did not work.

We ran out of clothes hangers because for the first time ever all of our clothes were clean at once; my kids were getting to school too early because we were actually leaving when we were supposed to; I began having everything ready on time when we entertained, but nobody would show up for hours.  The food got cold, the drinks got warm, and confusion ruled the day.  I’d messed with the rhythm.

These days, I never fight my propensity for delay.  I own it; I live it.  I am one with the universe of deferment.

Now if I could only find a clean pair of socks…