I belong to a group of people who always put things off until the last minute. In our minds we rationalize all kinds of lame excuses for not doing things in an orderly manner which would make our lives a lot easier. Oh sure, we could take our moms' advice and do laundry on Monday, dust and vacuum on Tuesday, bathrooms and floors on Wednesday, cook for the weekend on Thursday, run errands on Friday, but what would be the fun in that? We'd miss out on the panic of digging the cleanest shirt out of the hamper for a forgotten appointment. The embarrassment of having drop-in company notice the elaborate cobwebs hanging between the wall and a light fixture. The stress of trying to make dinner from a potato, a cup of strawberry yogurt, and six frozen shrimp. Sometimes I get fed up with my tendency and make schedules and charts for myself to straighten out the problem.
Eventually they get lost under a pile of mail and forgotten. Good intentions gone astray. I always fall back into the same rut. Maybe I'm an adrenaline junky and need the excitement of rushing around at the last minute. Maybe it's an inherited trait I can blame on a long gone ancestor. Whatever it is, I haven't found the cure. The one thing I do know is that it would take a miracle to change me.