That's been my motto for a while now. It's sad, really. I say that I work best under pressure, and to a certain extent, that is true. However, I put off quite a bit of work, just because I'm being lazy.
This past weekend, for instance, is a great example. As it stands right now, when my parents come down on Wednesday, they will need to hurtle themselves over all the crap that lies between them and the bed in which they are going to sleep just to get into the room. I had two days ... two WHOLE days to get that room cleaned and organized. Did I do it? NO!
What did I do with my time?
Well, besides the amazingly large and somewhat unnecessary pity party I had for myself, I managed to watch at least 2 hours worth of BLACK GOLD, a reality TV show about roughnecks in Texas. Please explain to me how that solves world peace, cleans my house, or helps me get a handle on the growing amount of crap that will soon overtake me? IT DOESN'T!!
However, today, when I got to class, I realized the mountain of work that I have to accomplish, for both home and work, and the short amount of time I've got to do it, and I suddenly needed a paper bag to hyperventilate in.
As an added bonus, I could also hear my mother's voice, ringing loudly in my ears, "Well, if you hadn't left it to the last minute ..."
You know that if she starts a sentence off with WELL, you're in
a.) big trouble
b.) line for a lengthy lecture, or
c.) all of the above.
Of course, after my hyperventilating had calmed, I immediately started in on an internal whining fit that went something like this:
"I don't have time for all of this. It's too much. How am I going to get it all done? I won't sleep for the next three days, and then I'll get sick and won't be able to play with my family when they come down, and that will piss me off, and I will be grumpy and upset and then feel badly that I was grumpy and upset, and ...."
And then I hear it ... again. Her words, peeling loudly. "Oh for heaven's sake. Stop whining and crying about it, and just get it done!"
At this point in the blog, my mother is sitting, somewhere in Michigan, bouncing up and down in her chair, squealing, "THAT'S EXACTLY RIGHT!!! FINALLY, SOMETHING I SAID, SHE REMEMBERS!"
There are very few times in this life where I admit the woman was right, because, honestly, that would be admitting defeat where all of those many, many arguments we had over the years are concerned, but I suppose, at this point in my life, I must admit a small amount of defeat, and say, "Alright, mother, you were right."
There ... are you happy?