The writer in me is restless. I feel as if I have a huge jumble of words clogged up in my brain, twirling around and around like a tornado. I get this way when I have personal obligations pressing on me - you know, financial stuff, my husband's rapid-cycling moods of late, worry about any number of things. I think I would feel better if I could just open up my brain and take out the swirling word tornado. But it's not really the word tornado that is giving me grief. It's all the other "life stuff."
I'm the world's worst procrastinator. Seriously, the absolute worst. I will put things off until I have to break my neck to get them accomplished. When I was working, if I had something to do that I dreaded, I had to make myself get it done right away in the morning, because if I didn't, I would waste the entire day just finding inconsequential things to keep me busy to avoid doing the thing I didn't want to do. This whole procrastination thing is one issue I never explored when I was seeing a therapist. So, I don't know why I procrastinate so badly, but I do and it gets me in hot water sometimes. But, I'm still glad I never addressed it with my therapist. Jeez, I gave her enough mental bats to swing at me as it was.
That's the reason I quit going to her after a year. I always felt she was never satisfied unless I left her office crying. And I just started to feel beat up every time I went to see her. I just stopped going. I told the front desk to cancel all my appointments, but I never said anything to her directly. Mainly because I knew she would pick up one of those mental bats I had so freely armed her with and swing it at my head.
So, I guess it will always be a mystery why I am a procrastinator. Ah well, there are worse things than being a procrastinator. Although sometimes I'm pretty sure that my husband equates it right up there with being a serial killer. I can see the headlines now:
Serial killer strikes again, City terrified!
and then, right beside that headline:
Serial procrastinator still at it, husband felled by the stress of it all!
Okay, I can hear you all laughing, but it's not funny. Have you ever been awakened bright and early by a barrage of questions? "Did you remember to blah, blah, blah? And don't forget to blah, blah, blah. Don't tell me you haven't done ABC yet!" All of this while I'm attempting to swim up to consciousness and make sense of the words my husband is firing at me. It is not a pretty picture. I've learned now to just say yes, yes, yes, of course I did. Then he leaves the house, happy as a lark; and I kill myself that day getting everything done that I said yes, yes, yes to.
I work better under pressure. When I have a deadline to meet, I will meet it or die trying. And it doesn't count, apparently, if it is a deadline I have set for myself. It has to be imposed by a third party to light a fire under me. I don't know why that is. Go ask my therapist - but I warn you. Be careful, she has deadly aim with those mental bats.
I feel somewhat relieved at having spewed words onto the page. You, dear reader, on the other hand are probably asking yourself, What the heck just happened? Was that a tornado, or what? And the answer is: Yes. Yes it was--a word tornado and boy, oh boy, do I ever feel better!
