Another Fine Mess

It's a lovely Sunday and I was feeling easy like it, but all that went out the window after too much coffee and grand plans for changing the house around. My crew of three children were ready, if not a little forced into the project, and standing at attention. Yeah right, they were fighting tooth and nail with me and each other, of course.

First things first; we needed to get rid of the darn lazy boy. It served its purpose on the pregnancy front three years ago, but now it is just taking up space and is a makeshift jelly catcher of sorts. It reclines way too far back and is a virtual black hole for remotes. My sixteen year-old was in charge of placing it in the front yard with a sign that read, "$20- two years-old-needs tightening". (A little embellishing never hurt anyone, it's not like we are offering a guarantee.)

The hassle that ensued involved a broken light switch, a smashed Lego house sister had been working on, many tears, dragging it out the back yard then to the front, and the 2 1/2 year-old finally hiding in the bedroom with a soothing Peter Pan video for comfort. All this for a hopeful $20! It barely seems worth it.

The living room looks no better; laundry needs to be folded and put away, the shelf I dragged into the back yard is cooking in the sun only half painted and I'm pretty sure metal paint isn't the right stuff for a wooden shelf. The garbage bag of broken toys got spilled in the madness of shuffling around and the toys to donate slowly got redistributed around the kitchen with new-found excitement. *sigh. Now it's lunch time; time for another mess.

Through all this, the song, "Easy like Sunday Morning", taunts and twirls and seems to only make the whole ordeal worse. Perhaps a nap might help to refocus and give some new found exuberance to the situation. At this point I'm over the whole deal and would like to just head for the beach for a swim and some rays. (Sun not sting).

Maybe I was destined for failure from the get-go. My crew of 16, 10, and 2 1/2 might not have been the manpower I actually needed. A nanny, a handy-man and a cook is what I really need. An interior decorator would be extremely helpful as well. I'm very good at tearing it up, but the rebuilding is where I run into trouble. Why, oh why, can't I just fold my arms and nod my head and the mess just cleans itself up? On top of everything I just took a break to thoroughly frustrate myself by not being able to figure out how to get pictures from my phone to my computer. That's it-nap time.

Procrastination Makes it Happen?

As an aspiring writer I have a common problem so many of us artsy-types face: PROCRASTINATION. It's the demon lurking under my bed as I try to drift off to sleep, the words of my best selling novel materialize in my mind, my computer brain spell-checking my floating work until it lulls me to subconscious blackness. It's the poem that so beautifully forms as I take a walk in the morning, each line more genius than the last; the poem that might even make a hit song if only I can make it home to get it onto a piece of paper. The ideas that come to me when I'm reading the droll local newspaper with it's sophomoric reporting could possibly win me a Pulitzer. If I die before I have a chance to get this stuff down- boy what a loss for all mankind! That's what we all think; us procrastinators.

Lousy loafs the lot of us! Well, enough is enough I say. I'm making a cyber-rific effort to put an end to all this wasted thought process that comes to a head only to die in shattered pieces inside my brain. I will force myself to write uncannily witty little blurbs that force the masses to think, to laugh , to cry, to change their very thinking as they know it. There will be no more excuses as to why I don't have a bog. As far as that goes, turns out I already had one and hadn't used it in nearly a year. The only thing I'd posted was a pissy little rant about the lack of a recipe I couldn't obtain from P.B.S. So, anger appears to have some affect on the procrastinating artist.

Having made my first move toward greatness and, if nothing else, personal satisfaction, I feel like an enormous weight has been lifted. Now I have to hope I can keep this thing from getting too out of hand, what with all the millions of hits and what-not.