Aimlessly walking between the aisles of a newly opened organic section at a supermarket, I strive to stay composed in my current theatrical role: babywearing mommy with a gregarious toddler in tow, trying to figure out the item I had desperately wanted to purchase. Or maybe I simply needed an excuse to get out of the house, despite the laborious preparations of stepping out.
Most nights, unless I’m in a Masterchef overdose coma, I manage to list out all the things I need to get a start on. I begin my day with excuses for all of them.
Start eating healthy? Sure, I have a neatly tied pack of organic thick cut oats in the refrigerator that I remember to cook most days. I also have a stash of mini peanut butter cups hidden right behind them (my toddler identifies candy although she has never eaten any) .
I can always start my diet tomorrow; the need for that sugar rush to temporarily uplift my weared out mind trumps the ever increasing dress sizes.
Start working out? My daughter giggles when she sees me in my working out attire (yes, they were a very vital requirement that I demanded if I was to even consider this). The giggling is mainly because it is quite rare for her to see me hilariously clothed since she is very used to seeing me in pyjamas till it’s time for fresh pyjamas.
Citing medical reasons is my favourite excuse.
Start studying for my exams? This is a tough one. I cannot bank on morning sicknesses to excuse myself from another sitting. I blame excessive sleepiness.
Work on authoring my book? No real excuse except the need to finish up everything else I have to do.
The list is endless.
The haunting rush to cram notes the night before an exam or the despair at not being able to fit into anything after being invited to yet another dinner, does not seem to make me do what I need to do.
I wait around for motivation or inspiration to strike. I sigh at the thought of what I could achieve only if I had a bit of help to get up from this stupor.
How I love to procrastinate.
I delay simple tasks and end the day overwhelmed by it all.
Dealing with the series of dinner parties and ensuring my children and I leave the house without spit up or play dough on our outfits made me seriously question my organisation abilities. When am I going to finish organising the playroom? And the transparent set of drawers that stand bearing all, right across the sitting room?
Maybe I should begin with my closet.Or the kitchen.
What about writing? I must complete one chapter. One chapter in my book or journal? I should get to that as soon as I finish folding the laundry pile worthy of a mention for the height it stands at.
But let me blog about it before that.
After all, I have been wanting to do that since I left school.
About time, yes?