That little thing called procrastination.

By Mike Jastrzebski

It's the middle of January and if Mary and I want to go cruising starting this spring, I need to start working down that project list of mine. It stands at 50 items right now, from something as simple as applying for our passports to the more complex projects like installing solar panels. There's really just one major problem.

You see, over the years I've come to realize that I've been inflicted with one of the most insidious diseases known to man. I'm talking about procrastination of course. I will put off just about any chore that I find even a little distasteful for absolutely no reason at all. Let me give you a couple of examples.

I hate working on engines. Never wanted to be a mechanic, don't like to get my hands greasy, don't like the pain inflicted on my back from being bent over an engine with a book spread out in front of me trying to figure out what to do next. Unfortunately, if you live on a boat and can't do your own basic engine work you'd better have a lot of money. So I'll work on the engine, get things running, and bitch about it the entire time I'm doing the work.

Then there's the head. I need to replace some hoses and rebuild the pump on the head itself. If you're not quite sure why that's such a distasteful job, just take a moment and think about what the head's used for. And it's not just boat work that I put off, oh no, it doesn't take much to distract me from my writing. 

Now the real problem for a procrastinator like myself is that any little thing can distract me. There's a girl in a bikini lying by the pool so I've got to go wash off the deck. (I dare one guy to say he wouldn't do the same.) Wait, one of my favorite movies, Casablanca, is on TV. (It doesn't really matter that I own the DVD and can watch it anytime I'd like commercial free.) I have to check my e-mail or my Amazon sales stats. Anyway, you get the picture.

Over the years I've found only one cure for this disease–my wife Mary. She's going to be retiring next month and she'll be home 24/7. This means that my excuses can't be trivial. I can't watch that movie, or that bikini-clad girl, or check my e-mail and then tell her I spent the day figuring out the intricate details of an important scene in my work-in-progress.

I suspect that without Mary here to keep me on the straight and narrow, I'd never get out of here. At least that's the way it's always been in the past.

What about you? Do you have a sure fired cure for procrastination?

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