Evaluation Of My Procrastination followed by My Procrastination Dissertation

I don’t procrastinate.

I . . . simply . . . do . . . not . . . procrastinate.

I don’t. Why everyone is always nagging me to get things done, I have no idea. I’m always on the go, always doing, and doing, and doing. Admittedly, there are times it may seem like I’m procrastinating, but really, I’m not.

Take the dishes for example, one might assume since they have been in the dishwater for two hours I am avoiding them. Not the case. Not remotely. They’re soaking. No procrastination there, the dishes will take less time to wash if they have been properly soaked. There is always a method to my madness.

I am quite adept at . . . never mind.

Just, never . . . mind. I’m not going to successfully fool anyone into believing I am anything but a habitual procrastinator. I don’t mean to be. I just have too many things to do during my day and since I’m so busy bustling about, I don’t always get to everything I need to get to.

I always have the best of intentions, but before I know it, the clock has ticked its way to the end of the day and I am rushing to accomplish whatever is in need of being accomplished. I do try to give my attentions to the many important things which need to be done, but it never seems to fail, my mind will wander and I will begin something new, it’s a vicious pattern of behavior which generally leaves me with many things left undone.

Actually, some of my best work is born when there is no time to spare. Not always, but sometimes. My procrastination is in no way premeditated, but I am quite conscious of it, which makes it all the more frustrating. I have a constant dialogue running in my head, “You really should get this done, you really should be doing that, stop this, start that, finish this, finish that.” I rarely listen. I have Christmas cards from maybe a few more than three years ago tucked away on a shelf in the garage. I personalized each one with handwritten notes of yuletide cheer, I put them in envelopes, I addressed them, and yet there they sit. The worst part . . . they have stamps on them.

Terrible isn’t it? All that was left to do was post them off. I thought it would be best to take them to the Post Office personally, I figured the mailman had enough to carry as it was, but I never made it to the Post Office. Christmas came and went as did the welcoming in of a brand new year, and still they sat and still they do, with stamps no longer worth enough to send them on to their intended destinations. Sigh.

If I knew the secret to ridding the world of whatever unseen force afflicts me with this procrastination disease, I would share it with all . . . eventually, when I got around to it. In the meantime, I’ll keep talking to myself, making lists, setting goals, and alarms, and asking those I love to remind me of all I need to do.

I’ve managed to raise children; keep them clothed and fed, I’ve been a loving wife and I’ve kept the bills paid, mostly on time, and the house relatively tidy . . . I’m doing alright.

~ and now ~

My Procrastination Dissertation

It’s not a lack of motivation,
it’s not a lack of inspiration.
Perhaps a lack of preparation,
and a little bit of hesitation
lead to my lack of concentration.

The causation of a new fixation
causes quite a complication
when it comes to application.

Maybe there’s a correlation
with my constant deviation
and my need for relaxation.

I have the aspiration,
I’ve got the inclination,
and by my estimation
I shouldn’t have the aggravation
of this adjudication.

Frustration in vocation
is in this combination,
leading to the culmination
of my current classification
of constant procrastination.

So briefly in summation,
I plead guilty to this accusation,
no need for condemnation.

I can’t give compensation
for my violation,
but as a demonstration
of my dedication,
when I get a chance

I’ll start rehabilitation . . .

Crystal R. Cook