My mom works for a school system in a town that puts it on lockdown when the News Guys start to predict “weather”. Needless to say, she’s been home a lot recently. I was on the phone with her the other day when she checked the home messages and learned that she would be returning to work the next day. Which made her exhale, “Thank goodness. Otherwise, I was going to have to start doing things that I don’t want to do.”
…and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
[If I had a picture of the apple tree that was in my Grandmother’s yard, I would put it in place of this text. The caption would recall how we picked apples and then she made applesauce and pies. Though it would include the caveat that I might be the only person to remember this. In our house, it’s well established that I have the most vivid memories of childhood.]
I’ve been sitting here for little bit, lulled by the physical inactivity of deciding what I should do next. So I pretend to ignore the things that I don’t want to do: plan a grocery list, begin research on another Examiner.com post. Laundry.
In the gap between what I’ve completed and what I need to finish, an old and unwelcome bedfellow lurks. Disguised behind a mask of duty and diligence “procrastination” approaches. And I start shaking in my boots.
[If I hadn’t previously shown my yellow boots, I would here.]
Muscling through “procrastination” is one of my preconditioned responses. When a task gets uncomfortable or boring, I grit my teeth, put my head down, and slug forward. For a nasty deadline or even a health routine this ability is a boon. But there was a time when things that were unimportant became my highest priorities. I relied on my capacity to Just.Get.Through.It. and avoided the sensation that I needed a change.
Soon it will be time for me to get serious about being a contributing member of the full-time workforce. I’m already afraid of what happens when the novelty of a job wears off. Because I tend to place a disproportionate weight on the duty and diligence of being a martyr to a job I’ve outgrown. I’m distressed because I’m presently locked into the mindset that I’m destined to do it again.