THE ART OF PROCRASTINATION: A BEGINNER’S GUIDE.
I recently thought about launching an in-depth course on procrastination right here on Substack and, quite frankly, I procrastinated after I got started.
Many who indicated that they wanted to sign up for this exclusive chance to learn at the feet of a master waited for a start date, waited some more, and, strangely, drifted away. They obviously never had the temperament. Anyone expecting a start date to be set in stone was not cut out for the rigorous discipline it requires.
Sadly, I hear they now fill their days with tasks that demand extreme attention to detail, deadlines that must be met on time, on budget, and… oh, whatever.
Here is a new strategy: a three-part, easy-to-follow guide and yes, I did get to number 3.
Today’s lesson is brought to you by the midterms, which are driving me so nuts that I’ve decided to take a break from politics and scribble about… well, nothing in particular.
Lesson One: The Morning
If you’re like me, procrastination begins the moment you wake, with a long day ahead, filled with essential tasks to be completed before the sun sets in the west.
Take cleaning your teeth, for example. I pick up the toothbrush, notice the razor beside it, and the next hour is gone. It’s a recently purchased Gillette Super Power Stealth, replete with five blades. What was wrong with the three I’d only just got used to? And what copywriter dreamt up the name Stealth razor? Does it hide in the bathroom like a ninja, waiting to leap out once the cheeks and jowls are suitably lathered?
These are questions that need answers, people!
By the time I’ve solved the puzzles of branding, reminded myself to Google how shaving foam shoots out of the can and, more importantly, how it gets in there in the first place, 27 minutes have slipped away. Then it’s back to the toothbrush, and I contemplate why the new designs have that bendy, concertina-like device in the middle of the stem.
Ah, good, it’s lunchtime.
Lesson Two: Getting Down to Work
Ok, time to get to work!!
As a writer, I have the iron-willed discipline to churn out a short story every decade or so. As ageing readers will attest, my work ethic remains robust.
Many obstacles are set like traps to disrupt one’s routine.
Management has cunningly positioned my writing nook so that my deadlines and chore lists, pinned to the wall, sit exactly at eye level. The trick is to keep my gaze averted from a) the list and b)my partner’s detailed wall planner, her piles of completed assignments, and her desk, a pristine surface free of yesterday’s tasks. (We used to share a fairly large desk.)
My side used to look as if a destructive category 5 hurricane had ripped through it. Every surface is adorned, nay, buried under sticky notes reminding me of things to do. Many have yellowed with age and now curl and contort like ancient parchment. The trick, again, is to glide past, promising to return in due course to half-completed drafts, emails from irritated editors, and the pesky Post-it debris.
A coffee should spur me into a caffeine frenzy of activity!
Head for the kitchen. Now, the kitchen is a delightful treasure trove of items to ponder. Take the lowly cheese grater. Somewhere, a clever engineer worked out exactly how many of those rough, sticky-out things are needed to produce the perfect amount of powdery Parmesan. I could ponder that for an hour, and I frequently do.
When you work from home, your space becomes a veritable Aladdin’s cave of ways to avoid pesky chores. A gossip magazine tossed nonchalantly into the bin by the housekeeper can be retrieved and read cover to cover.
Tricky, as the text is in Bahasa Indonesia, but I persist, if only to gaze at pictures of the Indonesian soap opera stars.
Lesson Three: The Cover-Up
Suddenly, by God, it’s a little after five, and terror strikes deep in my heart as I hear management’s footsteps approaching my sanctuary. I rush to the desk, make a bit more of a mess (not that it needs any), bully the computer into booting up, and stick a well-chewed pencil between my lips to look suitably studious.
Management appears in the doorway. She glances at her own desk, serene and spotless, finished by nine this morning. Then she looks at mine. Her eyebrow delivers a full performance review.
“We used to share that desk,” she says.
“And we will again,” I reply, “once I’ve found the other end of it.”
She lets that go, which is a mercy, and asks how my day went.
“A splendid day’s work,” I say, removing the pencil. “I really do think I’m making serious progress here.”
Ah, procrastination and sloth, they make such fine bedfellows!
Paul v Walters is the best-selling author of seven novels and a collection of short stories. He also writes for several international travel and vox pop journals.
