Lying awake thinking about cleaning out my refrigerator and doing a detailed inventory of the pantry doesn’t seem to make any sense but that is exactly what I was doing the other night. Oh how wonderful and at peace I will feel once I am done—such were my thoughts. And then on to my clothes closet. . . .
What this is called is Productive Procrastination Syndrome—don’t we all suffer from occasional procrastination where we end up doing something actually good or useful instead of what we are supposed to do? (How useful is it to inventory the pantry? Um. . . .)
For me it quite often revolves around avoiding writing as if it were an appointment with a phlebotomist. See, I always get the nurse who really has trouble with my veins and doesn’t even seem to feel bad about how much I hurt—in both arms—after the abuse. I will do so many things except write. And I profess to love to write! Why would I rather clean something than write? I don’t claim to love cleaning. I like things, rooms, places, to be clean and I do get a great sense of accomplishment after cleaning, but the process isn’t always so enjoyable. Writing, however, is usually enjoyable once I start.
The good news is that today I came home from work and my wonderful husband had cleaned up the kitchen! Wait, maybe that is the bad news because then I had no reason to not sit down at my computer and write. So let’s say the good news is that we have a clean kitchen (please ignore the dinner dishes) AND I am writing!
Incidentally, I have this great idea that has been smoldering in my mind for some time now—this is how a lot of my writing comes about. I think it’s really quite close to appearing on a page, but right now I think I’ll go organize my office supplies.
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