Creatively Procrastinating

By Paul Roberts

There are days when writing my blog doesn’t feel quite active enough for me. Looking out my picture window this afternoon, it is a bit overcast, but mostly sunny. A pleasant breeze continues to work its way around the nooks and crannies of my back yard, ruffling feathers, pushing petals, bending boughs and keeping the sun from overheating me or my puppy Cleo while we’re out. But we’re not out. We are in. I have a blog to write.

I found several ways to put it off this morning. The halo wearing cherub on my left shoulder (Seraphina, I like to call her) kept encouraging me to get it done - or at least get it started - this morning, before my 10:00 am appointment with my friend Ken Bartle to work on the Sixth Street Theater program. However, Bub, the little imp on my right shoulder - he wears a dirty baseball cap, pulled jauntily askew atop his little noggin’ - pointed out half a dozen things that I could do while pretending to make the argument that they actually needed done, and before I knew it, Ken was here.

In my mind, Ken and I had plenty to keep us busy until lunchtime. Imagine my disappointment when his schedule didn’t quite fit mine and we were done by 10:30. As I waved goodbye to Ken from the front porch, Seraphina swooped back down to her left shoulder perch, like one of the swallows that return each spring to the hole I never fixed in the siding by my front door.  

“Blog?” she suggested.

I’m not sure who had a louder sigh, me or Bub. “Before you do that, check with Carol, make sure she doesn’t need your help with anything. She’s out back.” He had a point. A good husband should always check with his wife to find out if there is anything he should be doing before doing the thing that he knows he should be doing. 

Carol was in the backyard, and her own little halo wearing cherub seemed to be winning the battle. Carol was busy with plants and dirt. 

“You gotta love dirt.” That’s all Bub had to say. The next thing I knew, with no prompting at all from Carol, I was on my knees in the raspberry patch, gloves on, spade in hand, weeding for all I was worth. Seraphina left in a bit of a huff, and Bub was idly fanning himself with his cap, tossing a word of encouragement here and there each time I yanked up a particularly stubborn lilac shoot or a leafy line of creeping jenny. 

By the time Carol was leaving for lunch with friends, I had half the raspberry patch weeded and was in need of lunch myself. Maybe it was the full belly of left-over pizza, maybe it was the lullaby Bub was humming in my ear, but instead of sitting at my computer to blog after lunch I headed for the spare bed in my office. Nap time!

An hour or so later, still in a sleepy dream state, I first thought it was Seraphina staring at me, shouting “blog, blog, blog,”  inches away from my face. I opened my eyes a bit wider and realized it was Cleo, “bark, bark, bark,” asking if it was time for our walk. 

“Sorry, Cleo. I think you’ll have to wait.” I looked to my right. Nothing, nobody there. I looked to my left. Nothing, nobody there either.

“I really need to write my blog, Cleo. Okay?” 

And I’m pretty sure that as Cleo slumped to the floor, rolled her eyes up at me, sighed a bit, and let out a little whine, she was taking her cues from the little imp with his dirty baseball cap as he pointed out the door. 

I guess I’ll get the blog done later. “Let’s go girl!”

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How do you get started on a project when you don't want to get started on a project? Cleo walks can be motivating for me. Share some of your secrets with us.

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