Really, it's a shame there's no sport of procrastination. My youngest is a past master, but then he lives with the Queen of Procrastination and it's obviously in the genes. My eldest is also pretty good but he lacks the steely determination combined with insouciant charm that his brother uses...
Here I am, boyless, TWDB-less and having a pretty calm time of it at work because everyone is on holiday, and am I working on my book? With regret, I have to admit that I'm not even though my TWDB actively encouraged me to get my finger out before he went off on his Big Adventure to the American wild west. While he's grappling with golf-ball size hail and freak storms on a Harley, I'm supposed to be editing away on my pc.
Except that I'm not, and I'm doing the unthinkable instead, which shows what a tip top procrastinator I am... I'm doing a Spring Clean. In summer, yes, blah blah blah so what, the important thing is that I HATE HOUSEWORK so it's an ace act of procrastination.
Mind you, I have to make best use of my enthusiasm while I can because I'm liable to get bored pretty quickly and then I'll end up with everything only half done - a clean oven but mucky racks, no more cobwebs but a raging community of homeless spiders, a spotless kitchen but table strewn with unfiled papers (insurance, car, school, rent etc.) and so on.
One thing that might spur me on if I'm lucky is the knowledge that my TWDB may well come back sooner than expected. My gentle long-drawn out tidy up will have to be curtailed and I always work keenly to a deadline.
Yesterday I took some stuff to the dump. I'm always talking about going to the dump, aren't I? It's because there are periods when I do seem to be quite a regular there and am on pretty matey terms with the guys in charge. Heck, I even went to the dump in the UK - just try and stop me! - after helping to tidy out my parents' garage (again). I dream of a holiday doing bugger all on a comfy sunbed; no cooking, no cleaning, no responsibility, but that is not for me... yet...
So I filled up the Alfa, having put the seats down, with two grotty disintegrating plastic sunbeds and sundry binbags of crap, plus the broken parasol foot weighted down with concrete. I then had to do another run with grotty old plastic garden chairs, boxes of bottles and jars, a box of boxes, old iron (any old...) and the not-so-non-stick frying pan I brought back from Dallas in 1999.
I'm tellin' ya, my book stands no chance!