Robert Metry

Daytime View of “The Perpetual Procrastinator”

Sunset View of “The Perpetual Procrastinator”

The Many Lives of The Perpetual Procrastinators

A sunset view might cause others to draw the curtains and prepare for a long, dreamless night.  Not so for Viola.  In her case, this is her own customized version of  The Morning People’s dawn.  A creature of the night, she prowls the back alleys of her tarnished [howso?] emotions only after she has fed her family; made love to her husband and put him to sleep; and switched off all the lights.  All that remains to guide her journey now is a glimmer that emanates from her computer monitor.

She peers out of the window into the endless merging of sky with its distant clouds and the water beckoning the moon’s shadow.  Once the sunset hues give way to the rusty blending of the night sky into the horizon it takes little time to scan the neighborhood and reassure herself that all is as right as it can ever be.  She knows, instinctively, that the night will shade her secrets once more and honor her wish to prowl into unconquered territories of the uninhibited mind.  All she needs is a cup of tea and peace on earth.

She sniffs her more immediate surroundings with the deft whiskers [sniff with whiskers?] worn down by a thousand nights of roaming this strangely familiar neighborhood.  The Night Prowler in her soul is more drawn to her other senses now that the lights are dim.  She scratches around for moral and creative sustenance.  Her hunger draws her willy-nilly to the old painted walls near the dumpster of her desires.  She longs for any shard of sensible material that will bring tonight’s project to a close.  Through decades of juggling the Day Character with the Night Prowler, she knows her routines.  Aah! Routines: the bane of her existence and the salvation of her life on earth.  The barbed wire fence upon which she must perch gingerly looking one way toward the rule of Days and another way toward the freedom of Nights.  The populated world’s logical demands and the irrational wanderings into blissful fantasy.

She sharpens her claws on the rough surface of the old wall, peeling layer upon layer of mottled paint.  No.  This is nothing like the peeling of an onion to get to the empty core, she muses.  It’s nothing like the flowery philosophy of her dharma instructors trying to bore down to the pure inner light of her unconscious.  The variegated curtains of dust and lead, and -who knows: possibly of asbestos? – pour down on her head.  She blinks.  She sneezes.  She pulls away momentarily, in confusion and disgust.  Yes, it’s never tidy in her night world, but it’s her sole (soul?) proprietorship.  The night lasts only so long.  When the Morning People – or the MoPes [pronounced “mopes” or “mo peas”?], as she likes to call them  – emerge in the early light of dawn, her travails will be over.  Only then, of course, the MoPes will put her to the real test: Can she function in a whole other capacity in daylight hours, despite her long night of labor.  How long can she keep up this double life under their daytime rules?

Just a few days ago, she had even shared a secret poem with a MoPe.  Clever, they are.  They come in their own hardy disguises [the MoPes or the poems?]!

Day people run the world:

Dictate,

organize,

and command.

While the people of the night

lay their sacrificial souls

at their altar

in the depths of darkness

birthing the essence

upon which

day people feed.

Symbiotic?

Yes!

Joyful?

Perhaps – along the aquamarine haze of blurred boundaries

some dare not cross.

These barriers of darkness into light.

It is The  Others who see no need

to disrupt their sanguine sleep

so essential to their early morning appetites:

devouring their self-proclaimed birthright

to this: their nectar of life.

Of course, Viola’s poetry is just a stop-gap measure to avoid all other kinds of work.  In her eyes, it legitimizes procrastination, her strongest passion and the source of her deepest pleasures.

It’s not often that she can write in the daytime.  In fact, night-work had been such a big part of her life that until her first morning arrival at her new writing job she never even realized she couldn’t write by sunlight.   But she was hired to write.  “Writer” was her full job title!  Though, technically speaking, the job description leaned far more toward copy-writing, still in her youth she had mused:  “How amazing is that?!”

In this, one of her many past lives, she had been hired in an in-house ad department, sight unseen, after sending in some writing samples.  Sitting at her desk now on that first morning at work she had a clean office; sharpened pencils; a brand new Selectric typewriter; and no clue how to write in daylight.  No choice but to report to her boss and confess her sins:

“I really did write those samples, but I’ve always written at night.  I had no idea I wouldn’t know how to write in daylight.  I’m so sorry!” She had babbled on, half wanting to convince her boss and the other half wondering if the prior writings had all been a fluke.  Did some other force channel through her at night and at any moment desert her for good?  How sure was she, really, that she could ever write again? [nicely done: convincing]

“That’s OK” her lenient boss had replied, so many years ago,  “I know how that feels.  We’ll think of something.”

This was the very boss that she’d be asked to fire as her first act in the new position offered her as Vice President for Marketing.

“No, I’d rather quit than make such a bargain with the devil” she had thought over a weekend of agony; weighing her need for money and success against the morality of firing the woman who had been instrumental in allowing her the nigh-life.  She had quit instead. [consider repositioning these two paragraphs; shift in time interrupts flow]

“Maybe you can spend the days doing research; then do your write-up in the evenings,” her boss had offered kindly.

“Work four long days and take three-day weekends.”

“This might work beautifully after all, given that I have a 180 mile commute back to my home!” “– two state-lines away.”  She was grateful for any job, but especially to one with writer in its title.

“Just bunk with my family for the mid-week nights and spend the long weekends at home.” She had finally offered, thus starting an interlude memorable in so many ways.

That was during the reign of her Fourth Life, when she was carelessly flaunting the five more she had left under her slightly protruding belly [aging, overweight, pregnant?]. She had always aspired to be a writer.  It ran in her family.  Both sides.  It was her calling.  Or was it?  Was it, in fact, more likely that it was her calling to buy stationery and notebooks, gorgeous pens, multi-colored pencils, and stockpile them?  Maybe her true calling was to open a stationery store.  Maybe the papers looked so much better in their pristine condition, unfettered by her occasional scribbles.  May be.

Now, her whiskers had turned visibly gray after decades of roaming in the dark and the layers of paint on the wall told a different story:  The eight hues of paint scratched out with her worn-down claws reminded her of how little time may be left for her philanderings.  Still, she had to wear down those sharp claws and what better instrument than the wall of memories in the back alley of her temptations.

That brief nostalgic look back could have been a split second in mid-night time or the better part of an hour.  Time-warp is a condition Night People approach nonchalantly, as they would the drifting of clouds on a moonless night.  But tonight, there was a waning moon to hold her attention.  She began to scribble.

It used to be

When deadlines were closing in on me

I’d wash the kitchen floor,

Hang pictures,

Or write a long-overdue letter

to a long-forgotten friend.

—

Gleaming countertops

now reflect

wall-to-wall pictures of

those long-lost friends

Dust-proof carpeting covers my kitchen floor.

Stooping low to read junk mail;

Upgrade all my software;

And compose this poem;

I cringe beneath

The next inevitable deadline.

It saddens me to think

That poetry has sunk so low

In my long list of priorities.

“Procrastinators,” (she shifted from the yellow legal pad where she wrote her poetry over to the computer where she kept the many hundreds of her half-finished writing projects),

“Procrastinators” she began again with deliberation, “get a lot of bad press because of the Morning People (MoPes) who believe that by getting up one hour earlier every day you can get through the lifetime backlog of unfinished projects and new aspirations.  Of course, Morning People’s genetic make-up, which also seems to include organization, logic, and sequential thinking, allows them to get two to three hours worth of work out of that one extra early morning hour.  To them, procrastination is equated with lack of positive, productive work.”

She took a deep breath and poured out her soul in that combination of night-energy and day-determination, hoping that the catalyst of procrastination can serve her well.  [inconsistent tense]

“If truth be told, though, procrastinators are really the canaries in the coal mine.  [the canary dies from methane gas, warning the miners to get out: is the the image you intend?] Who, at Death’s Door, would not hesitate to put it off a bit longer?  Who among us chooses to jump right in?  If thinking twice is a pretty good rule of thumb; then thinking it over and over again is even better.  We don’t tend to rush through the pleasures of life so much – do we?”  [I really like this “procrastinator’s manifesto”]

Viola was now on a roll, in her element.

“It’s a well known pseudo-scientific fact that most procrastinators are avowed Night People.  Most others are simply repressed Night People.  Their condition is a predisposition very much akin to left-handedness, and the inexplicable desire to live in houses with ocean views.  Morning People happen to rule the world simply because they’re up before everyone else, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, excited about the prospects of setting the rules while the rest of us slumber.  They have conspired to keep us in toe [tow?] by refusing funding for any research that will lead to a scientific confirmation of the origins of, and necessities for, procrastination; thus setting procrastinators free from bondage to socially sanctioned MoPe norms. Though procrastinators have a natural tendency toward serendipitous discoveries, they are simply missing the genetic link that takes them from discovery to publication of results – keeping them in forcible obscurity.  Here and now, we begin to even out the score.”

“For many years now scientists and plain old intuitive, common-sense-driven folk have been chasing the spurious connection between self-proclaimed Night People and their tendencies toward holistic, synthesizing, integrated thinking, and the creative arts.”  Viola stopped short of admitting the very near connection between creativity and insanity, schizophrenia, and similar mental disorders.  She was not here to cast aspersions on herself and the people she loved and wished to protect.  No, this was going to be a sunny-side-up display of unity.  So, she continued:

“It goes without saying that those who battle with the procrastination bug every single morning are simply not going to follow the MoPe maxim: ‘Just set your alarm for one hour earlier in the morning and see how much more you can accomplish with your life.’  Of course, if you’ve been reading all those self-help books that admonish you for not being disciplined, you’ll find that in order to actually get your life together, you’ll need to go into major early-morning-time-debt.

“For beginners, you’ll need to double or even triple the time allocations prescribed by the MoPes.  Here’s a small sampling of how much earlier you need to get up every morning just to fit in the basic social norms of being organized and healthy in mind, body, and spirit.  According to various MoPes, depending on their own specialization (yes, they all seem to specialize in something we cannot live without) begin each morning with the following regimen prior to setting off for work:

·      Ten minutes to write your to-do list in your day-planner; and to distribute the not-done list from yesterday’s date into well-reasoned plans for today, tomorrow, and beyond.  If your backlog is considerable, you will need to invest in a multi-year calendar.  Adjust the time upwards.

·      Begin your exercise routine with 10 minutes to stretch and warm up followed by 15 minutes cardio and a five-minute cool-down for whatever exercise regimen you happen to be following at the moment.  This could be anything from Tai-Chi or jumping on the trampoline to skipping rope or chasing the neighborhood dogs away from your lawn.  Just don’t skip the exercise if you expect to live a long-healthy life; and be sure to rotate in some weight lifting to tone those muscles!  All it takes is maybe three hours a week.

·      Thirty-minutes for a quick jotting down of your thoughts in your journal.  You will want to set aside ten minutes for free-writing or automatic writing, as you wish, and then get down to the highlights of yesterday’s happenings.  By waiting to write the journal in the morning, you have the opportunity to reminisce about your dreams and to further synthesize what has already passed; viewing it now from a more reasoned distance.  Write a haiku or short poem to capture your mood for the day and to get rid of loose thoughts before you sit down to meditate.

·      A fifteen-minute sitting for meditation is really rather minimal.  You will eventually want to work your way up to one hour or more.  This will clear the last of your nagging stress and provide the centered respite from which you will gain your strength to face the coming day. Additionally, as Mortimer Adler once noted: “You have to allow a certain amount of time in which you are doing nothing in order to have things occur to you, to let your mind think”

·      Twenty minutes to take a shower, groom, and get dressed for work (to allow for greater efficiency, lay out your clothes the previous night and be sure there’s enough gas in the car as you will not have time to make unnecessary stops on the way to work.  Preparing your lunch the night before is also a time-saver for early morning hours.  But who’s counting the night-moments here?!)

·      Thirty minute allocation for a leisurely breakfast that gives you the opportunity to enjoy the healthy habit of sharing the start of this new day with your family.  Of course, if you must also feed the kids and spouse, you may wish to allocate more time for this most important meal of the day.  Everyone but everyone claims this is the most important meal of the day – regardless of the fact that Night People may choose to sleep until noon.  Still, if you wake up at noon, be sure to have breakfast before you move on to lunch.”

Hmmm.  Let’s take out that calculator, the MoPe’s best friend… Viola took a breath.  But her task was nearly done.  Must press on.

“If you must report to work by 8:00 A.M. and assuming that you are lucky enough to live only one-half hour away from work, the above regimen will require a minimum two hours and forty-five minutes of Morning Time prior to the actual start of your day ‘at work.’  So, set the alarm for 5:15 and stick close to the schedule as I [you?] have not left much room for dilly-dallying.  For each additional person you must prepare for departure, add forty-five minutes to one hour and adjust the alarm accordingly.”

“Then, again,” She continued in a new frame of mind:

“Then again, you have the option to take a deep breath and, without even bothering to waste any time to join Procrastinators Anonymous, re-set the snooze button and extend your leisure-time in bed.  Take a stand against the MoPes.  Better  still, don’t even bother to stand up.”

“With no to-do list to worry about you are already on step number two.  Stretching in bed is just as effective as putting on yoga clothes and stretching on a mat.  Skip Step Two.”

“Who needs a journal when your brain is not overstressed from the sound of the alarm?

Skip Step Three.

“…And with the money you save by not having to buy an alarm clock, exercise clothes and equipment, journals and pens and meditation tapes, you actually don’t have to work quite as hard to enjoy life.  What’s critical, though, is how you choose to spend your new-found leisure time.  Remember: it’s not the delay factor itself that gets you into trouble.  Rather, it’s what you do with the time you’ve gained that separates the sinners from the saints.  Enjoy your time off; you can always read the next chapter later this evening, after the MoPes have already gone to bed.  You can count on me.  I’ve been there.

I used to be one of the night people for most of my life.” She lied happily. “ Somehow I found daydreaming a lot more pleasant late at night.  Then child care and work made me into a morning person by law.  You realize immediately that such laws exist the moment the baby screams for milk and you find the feeder directly attached to your body but absolutely not under your own control.  Procrastination is automatically punished by excruciating pain and an extra trip to the laundry.  Once you become a law-abiding citizen, breaking your will comes easy on all other counts. By now, with advancing old age, I realize that another natural law requires that I burn the candle not only at both ends, but also from the middle: night-time, as usual, because that’s my natural biorhythm; early morning based on three decades of habit; and middle of the night for a bathroom run.”

For some reason, she contemplated aloud, the authors of most self-help articles and books are Morning People.  I’ve hardly ever read any of them say:  “To get more work done, just stay up two more hours at night.”  Yet, I know for a fact that that’s when I get most of my own work done.  That alone should serve as the best credential for my expertise in procrastination.  Yet, I can boast another accomplishment as well.  I started this book fifteen years ago – but as a second choice to another as-yet-to-be-written book which was far more important for my promotion at work!

“Remember,” She concluded with a definitive nod to this task: “Nothing is improbable when you have nothing but time!  Enjoy, but do heed the warnings!”

Morning light was filtering through the sun shades on her window.  She saw her reflection in the mirror behind her computer screen.  She looked surprised and puzzled.  Grabbing the yellow legal pad, she went into her poetry mode and jotted down the last of her notes:

A Necklace

There is a mirror beyond my keyboard

Its original intent: to reflect the ocean behind,

a roundabout way to juice the landscape without

Today I happen to catch a glimpse of myself

from a corner visible beyond the computer screen

It appears that I’m wearing a necklace –

which I don’t recognize.

In fact, I hardly ever wear necklaces at all,

let alone when working alone at home.

I steal a second glance.

The reflected smile I witness: genuine glee!

The necklace as real in its permanence: a tattoo of wrinkles

Where my sixtyish neck meets a forty-something shoulder

Complementing, on the top-side, fifty years of smile lines

in the corner of my eyes,

In a thousand year-old body waiting to bloom.

© dineh-2009

She would be crawling into bed just as the MoPes were arising to rule her world one more time.  No matter.  She had almost beaten them at their own game.  She would retire into her own Night of the Sacred Soul with her tail curled around her body for warmth and protection; her whiskers resting on her front paws; the puddle of her existence kept secure in her knowledge that all is as it should be. “MoPes!” She surrendered, “You Are Welcome to the World of My Creation!”

[As an accomplished procrastinator I got your message loud and clear.  Well told and witty.  Sometimes I would get lost in the night person descriptions and have to reread.  You paint vivid word pictures.  You might want to consider tighter editing to avoid losing the reader in multiple images.  Inserting Viola’s poetry is a nice touch.  Gives her depth and a platform for more abstract expression.  I was once a night person, from doing homework to composing legal documents to creative writing.  Now I incline more to early morning after a few hours of sleep, ending about dinnertime.]