22. Procrastination

I’ve gotten behind on my blog posts, as you’ve probably noticed. I could say it was because I am incredibly busy, but that would be an excuse. The truth is, I’m just procrastinating. And, as Eloise (my dear mother) liked to say, “the longer I wait, the behind-er I get!”

And it’s not as if I don’t have anything to write about. In fact, the opposite is true; when I think about writing a post, at least five or six topics spring immediately to mind. I could have told you about my lovely interaction at the community shredding event in the Stillwater Public Library parking lot, where they were serving hot chocolate to people waiting in the long line of cars; about when I smiled and waved away the hot chocolate, one of the ladies saw the drool marks Persimmon made on the inside of the back windows, motioned to me to roll down my window, and handed me a dog treat. “They’re organic!” she added with a smile.

I could have mentioned that my son got his Oklahoma driver’s license, and a letter informing him that he has a summer job back in Illinois, both in the same week; how I felt that suddenly, and all at once, his adulthood was swiftly approaching, and not waiting for me to catch up. I could have written a lengthy tome on the adventures of actually getting the license, with a detailed treatise of the antiquated system of appointments for drive tests at the Oklahoma Department of Public Safety (first attempt); the good laugh we got when the examiner canceled for “snow” which looked like any normal, random day in late spring in Illinois (second attempt); and that day we had to track down a photocopy of his Illinois permit (which they had taken when he got his Oklahoma permit) to prove he’d had a permit for at least six months (third, and finally successful attempt).

I could have talked about our new veterinarian Dr. Amy, who comes to the house for regular checkups and vaccinations. I’d tell you exactly how thrilled I was that, not only did Persimmon adore her, but her bill was almost exactly half what I would have paid for my vet in Champaign. We loved our vet there, too, but….half, I tell you. She avoids overhead by having an office out of her car, and having the pet owner act as vet tech. The animals are less stressed (I dreaded visits to our vet’s waiting room, in case there was a dreaded c-a-t there. Persimmon is...not terribly fond of them, let’s say) and there’s absolutely no waiting. And Dr. Amy got to see and know Persimmon’s home environment. Win-win.

I could even have done a sweet little write-up about selling our dear house back in Illinois. I know it’s been an important turning point, and yet, the relief I felt after the closing was as overwhelming as it was unexpected. Countless wonderful memories of being in that house, but also periods of grief and hardship. My father helped us buy the house, then died three months after we moved in. I grieved two miscarriages there. My son changed all the way from a barely talking toddler to a six-foot-tall teenager while living at that house. We designed and rebuilt the kitchen, the garage, the backyard, the attic; we repainted every wall and piece of trim. Closing on the house was truly the end of an era.

You see, there’s so much I could have been writing about. But I think I know what everyone really wants to know about:

The new house.

I recently read an article in the New York Times entitled, “Why You Procrastinate (It Has Nothing To Do With Self-Control)”. It explains that procrastination is more about managing “emotions than it is about productivity.”

“Procrastination isn’t a unique character flaw or a mysterious curse on your

ability to manage time, but a way of coping with challenging emotions and

negative moods induced by certain tasks — boredom, anxiety, insecurity,

frustration, resentment, self-doubt and beyond.”

How do they know me so well?

The thing is, I know I should write about the house. Dear friends cautiously ask about it. Strangers who see us on the lot doing work ask about it. I’m sure some people are wondering if they should ask, or if the topic is too sensitive. No, I should answer pre-emptively, it is not too sensitive. It is frustrating, anxiety-inducing, all-consuming, sad, happy, and frustrating all over again….and complicated. And if anyone had told me that an entire year after my husband left to start his job in Oklahoma we still wouldn’t have a permanent dwelling, I don’t know if I’d have done things differently. Possibly.

But I’ve rambled enough for one day. I’ll save the saga of the new house for another post. You know, like a cliffhanger. Certainly not procrastination….