Chronic Procrastination

I procrastinate chronically. My husband, Bill, is some kind of saint. We were engaged for three years because I didn’t get around to planning the wedding. He finally bought us tickets to Las Vegas and we eloped. That was my second engagement. My sweetheart from college and I were engaged for a year and a half because I put off planning the wedding, but we wandered off on our separate ways. I sent him the ring back when I met Bill.

In college, I always put projects and studying off until the last minute. As a result, I didn’t get the best grades. I talked to my parents about dropping out. They said as long as I was passing my courses, any degree would be better than no degree. I waited tables throughout college, so I had an excuse for not being at the top of my class. After I graduated, I was promoted to assistant manager of the restaurant. I had no intention of staying in the restaurant business, but I never got around to looking for anything else.

Bill is very conscientious and makes it seem like we both are, because we do things together. He brings me grocery shopping, enlists me to help him cook and clean, and even brings me to the gym to work out on a regular basis. Sometimes a library book or a return item falls through the cracks, though. That’s all on me, of course.

Bill has hobbies. He likes to golf and he plays alto sax. He doesn’t understand how I can spend all my free time streaming mysteries and occasionally reading a book (usually a cozy mystery), His hobbies are physical and creative outlets. They give his life meaning. I told him our marriage gives my life meaning. He bought me a copy of Simone de Beauvoir’s The Second Sex. He said I’m his ideal wife, but I need my own interests. To live fully I can’t be passive all the time.

I took tennis lessons for a while, but kept putting off practicing. The same with guitar lessons. Both teachers asked me why I was taking lessons, so I quit. I wanted to do something creative. I finally got a copy of The Artist’s Way, by Julia Cameron. It said to free write every morning when I get up. So I did. It said to have an “artist’s date,” doing something that would inspire me and I’d enjoy, regularly. So I did. I began noodling around with my guitar. It was much more fun than the lessons I had been taking. I began writing poetry and putting them to music with my guitar. It wasn’t something I thought I’d share with anyone else, but Bill heard me and improvised with me on his saxophone. I began painting colorful acrylic abstracts. Bill had some of them framed and hung them on our walls.

I still haven’t started looking for another job. Maybe the one I’ve got is good enough.