Through the Looking Glass: 29. Procrastination

Monday, December 3, 2012

29. Procrastination

There is nothing I like better than being able to put off a task until later. While many individuals see my procrastination as the thief of my time I see it as the satisfying art of keeping up with yesterday. Never do today what you can put off until tomorrow is the basis for a lifestyle that I have gleaned much satisfaction from.

An ideal day for some begins with perverse perkiness that leads to morning callisthenics, a quick 5K jog and a roughage enhanced, yeast free, macrobiotic breakfast. For me it begins with the snooze button on my alarm clock. Use of this ingenious technological device allows me to gently wake myself at least three times before I am required to decide if I am alive or dead. It has been a much gentler way of easing myself into the reality of the world each day.

If I push the limit past three wakeup calls the cost comes back to me in the fact that I have to skip breakfast to be on work on time. (Although I revel in procrastination my employer has an uptight philosophy that requires promptness if my monthly check is to be signed) The up side to missing breakfast is that I can have it at noon. I usually take this opportunity to remind people that my lifestyle allows me to eat breakfast at 12 on numerous occasions.

February 24

Life is indeed good! The battery in the word processor died as I was finishing the previous paragraph and I have been able to delay my writing until today. There is something to be said for living right.

There are sacrifices one must be prepared to make with this life choice. For the most part bankers, bureaucrats and creditors subscribe to the 'on time or else' philosophy. This has led to some conflict between myself and the various people I owe money to. The seriousness of the situation has never gotten beyond a temporary loss of power in my home. Even this was a blessing as my alarm clock is electric and the event allowed me to use a legitimate excuse for arriving late at work.

February 25

Wonders never cease! As I shut down the computer at the end of the last paragraph the system crashed. I lost two days worth of writing. I suppose that I could have immediately rewritten the work while it was fresh in my mind but that would have conflicted with my hard line personal philosophy don't panic until after there's no reason to.

As I attempt to recreate this piece I admit that there is some regret about not having done it sooner. This discontent is a familiar feeling that I have experienced before. Had I known that my episode with a kidney stone was preventable I would have gone to see my family doctor much earlier. Had I known the joy a root canal can offer I would have flossed more carefully. Had I known the cost of therapyI would have worked harder to stay emotionally balanced.

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Introduction

Having moved at least twenty-five times in fifteen years has opened a world of learning to me. In six decades, an education ranging from the coldness of large cities to the isolation of remote rural locations to the busybody gossip of small towns and the wonder of the prairie and it's ocean of grass have all left their impressions on me.

Recently I relocated to a small city in British Columbia. It touted itself as a historical, cultural, educational and, over-all wonderful, place to live. Once I was past the trees and the rocks, the heights and the hills, the water and the wind, I calmed down and was ready to look at the people I was sharing that space with.

Every location I have ever squatted has had it's share of characters. Players in the cities along with the wide range of tinfoil hat wearers and baggy pants skaters were a given. Pop up strangers at odd hours surprised me with their appearance in the middle of nowhere. Rumours of my serial killer past from neighbours I had never met never swayed me. The wonder of gazing on the effects of wind on the grass ocean interrupted by a landowner enquiring why I was leaning on his fence was oft forgiven.

In this new locale a variety of characters as I had experienced elsewhere was a given. The density and variety of them however gave me more surprise than I would have expected.

I had heard comments about this place being a time warp to the sixties. However I only saw few that , by their appearance, I could say lived through the sixties. What apparitions appeared were younger and more colourful than I remember from that vague decade.

Purple haired strong armed accordionists, heavy head shaved violinists clutching tiny instruments, winter coated scarf wrapped individuals in shorts and oddly calm people with large coffees wandered the streets.

They wandered in and out of new age crystal shops, expressed opinions on local radio, bought nothing but organic food. They played jazz on squeeze boxes, made strings and wood sing in ways not intended, talked to themselves as they tightened their scarves and became more serene with each sip of coffee.

Characters here are more concentrated than in any other locale I have ever lived. It is a point of interest as well as point of concern.

It remains to be seen whether I will be mugged with organic carrots, side swiped by hooligan mountain bikers, be harangued with advice on dressing warmly or kept awake nights by jazzy sounds from an errant squeeze box. Whatever the outcome I am certain I could find it in no other place on earth to explore these particular uncertainties.

Until I am transplanted again, I extend every new-ager and boarder, every subculture economist and spiritualist, every would-be and wanna-be my deep thanks for extending me the opportunity of educating myself one measure more.