They Want Me To Do What?

Sometimes You Get The Wheel, Sometimes The Wheel Gets You

If I were a hamster and I had a wheel and the responsibility to run the thing -- but no accountability -- I would first give that wheel a thorough examination. Then I would Google everything I could think of about hamster wheels; I would compile enough articles and videos, I would order what I could find on Amazon Books -- maybe even some Google Play Books -- enough to build an expert library. Then, after that initial frenzy of information collection, I might read some of a couple of the items I had so diligently searched and downloaded. Only then would- I file it all away so that I knew exactly where to find it and take a nap under the wheel. Serial napping would become the norm, occasionally thinking about running that wheel, possibly even look up some of the information saved during that hurricane of research.

Serial napping would become the norm, occasionally thinking about running that wheel on occasion

I know the above to be the probable sequence of events because that is how I approach almost every task I am either volunteered for or volunteered myself into. I am a procrastinator. I am the founder and CEO of Procrastinators International, LLC, headquartered right here at my desk. If procrastination were a religious concept, I’d be the Rama Lama Ding Dong Daddy of the movement.

I procrastinate procrastinating, and I know that it’s not as productive for my writing as I need to be if I’m going to develop a quality style and generate stories that’d make Hemingway blush. Blushing out of shame for his own comparatively poor work, or from the near irreversible damage I’d have done to literature, I’m not sure yet. But, damn it, correcting this pernicious habit is tougher than quitting smoking. Perhaps the reason is that I only added smoking to my repertoire as a teen while procrastination has been a lifelong companion at least as long as I can remember! Quitting Marlboros cold turkey proved to be a relative walk in the park compared to getting off my duff to write.

Damn it, correcting this pernicious habit is tougher than quitting smoking

Pushing against the inertia of being at rest is trying, frustrating existence. I find more stuff to do, more excuses to not write, as if my well-being depended on not writing instead of the reverse. Then there are those mornings when I get up, make coffee and just write. Those rare moments are signaled by a lightness in my heart, shivers up my spine, and crystal clarity spreads across my mind; I am in the groove, baby! The words flow through my fingers and all is right in the world.

Sad those brief instances of “flow” are interspersed with stretches of the same old dragging unproductive days. What’s good, though, is that I know what is happening; I just need to figure out the how’s and the why's. Faith, hope, and persistence will win the day. I am sure of that.