Procrastination

The Art of Putting Things Off

(And Then Wondering Why I Did)

I spent three weeks avoiding organizing my office closet. Three. Entire. Weeks.

Every time I looked at that closet door, I'd get this little knot in my stomach. You know the one - that "I really should deal with this" feeling that makes you suddenly remember you need to check the weather forecast or reorganize your sock drawer instead.

I had built this task up in my mind like it was some sort of Mount Everest expedition. I'd need a whole weekend, special organizing bins, possibly a therapist to help me through the emotional trauma of finding fifteen-year-old tax documents mixed in with Christmas decorations.

So I kept walking past. And that closet door seemed to mock me daily, like it was saying, "Still scared of me, are you?"

Finally, last Saturday, armed with nothing but sheer annoyance at myself and a smidgen of utter boredom, I flung open that door with the dramatic flair of a woman who'd had enough of her own nonsense.

Forty-five minutes later, I was done. FORTY-FIVE MINUTES.

I stared at my perfectly organized closet, feeling like the world's biggest fool. All that anxiety, all that mental energy spent avoiding something that took less time than watching a sitcom.

You'd think this revelation would make me a reformed procrastinator. You'd think I'd apply this wisdom to other areas of my life - like finally calling the dentist or tackling that pile of mending that's been giving me the stink eye from my bedroom chair.

But no. The past few days I've been walking wide circles around a load of laundry that needed folding, hoping if I wouldn't make eye contact it would disappear. Then, like the inimitable Vivien Leigh I shrugged and said, "I'll think about it tomorrow."