Procrastination, one of life’s finest delicacies.
There is good “procrast”, as the connoisseurs call it – and then there is bad.
The good kind of procrastination is heading home early, or going in late because you’re on track. It’s leaving that job for Monday rather than doing it over the weekend because it really isn’t mission critical and you’ve already “wowed” that pants off of that client this week anyway.
No one needs their pants blown off twice in one week.
That’s procrastination you’ve earned.
Then there is the bad form of procrastination. The virus that spreads throughout your life in a very “Agent Smith” sort of way. You’ve already let that thing slip this far, what’s another day or another week going to matter?
You’ve already let that client down, it’s too scary to deal with now and so we’ll let that fester a little longer.
Today I paid the price for the shitty form of procrastination. Every now and again I get the kick in the ass I need that reminds me “Oh yeah, I’m an adult and a professional. Make sure you act like one.”
I’ve had a bucket of bolts old car on my driveway for a year. I could have sold this car a year ago no hassles what-so-ever and yet it just sat there. We’d just had our first child and honestly I just couldn’t be bothered dealing with it.
Now I’m dealing with it and it’s a pain in the ass. Registrations have lapsed, batteries are dead, and hours will be spent getting it sorted.
I could make a lot more money working those hours than I’ll ever get from messing around with it and getting it sold.
It is the penance I have to pay for my slothfulness.
Nothing ever gets better when left to rot, it only gets worse, and dealing with it today is always better than tomorrow.
An utterly minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things, but certainly my 2017 reminder not to let the sloth-beast get involved in my affairs.