After the Friday that started out as a Monday but became a Friday later, there was Saturday. And the plan for Saturday was LAUNDRY.
Because I keep putting it off. I like to get it out of the way on the weekend rather than on a week night, mostly because doing one load costs two hours, and even though I don’t have to sit at the laundromat and wait for it, it just seems to take more mental energy than I have when I get home from work. Kind of a nonsensical thought, really, what with the post-work mental energy I’m happy to devote to Book o’ Face and reading and such. Really, it’s probably more that I really like to put on the grubbies and not worry about being presentable, even if all I’m doing is slogging through the back yard with a laundry basket.
Not as if anyone’s likely to stand there and pass judgment on me for being comfy while doing laundry. Silly idea. Nope. I class laundry as work, and I’ve spent 8 hours at work (plus two getting there and back) so I don’t want to do more work when I get home, not beyond feeding the cats and myself.
Unfortunately, this attitude, coupled with the “it’s the weekend and I want to sleep in a bit and oh rats I bet I won’t get the washer now I’ll just read Dwell there’s always next weekend” variant of procrastination, occasionally results in my having to dig through the remaining clothing options for something work appropriate (plain t-shirt? Boring but functional. The “Grammar Police” t-shirt? Not so much…), and that is when LAUNDRY becomes A Thing that Must Happen.
Saturday was such a day.
And it was a successful day, laundry-wise, in that:
- The washer was free, and
- the dryer was also free, so
- I didn’t have any delays in starting any part of the process, and
- it didn’t rain!
Well, yes, it rained late Saturday night into Sunday morning, but the morning and early afternoon were clear, so I got to avoid slogging through wet grass and getting my dry laundry rained on.
I even put it all away instead of setting myself up to spend three or four weeks getting dressed out of the laundry basket.
Which, let’s face it, is kind of silly. It isn’t as if something else came along and magically filled up all the drawer space. It’s simply me putting stuff off again.
I have been fighting this procrastination crap most of my life. It was annoying enough (to my mother) that I “dawdled” as a child. Add in a behavior I developed while dating Steve, who was himself slower than molasses in January in a lot of ways…
Namely and to wit, Steve and I would make plans, and part of these plans was Steve saying, “I’ll pick you up at [time].” He lived 25 miles or so east of me, and we generally went to the west side for movies, or downtown for the theater,so it made sense for him to pick me up rather than the other way around. But I realized after not too long that he was calling to say he was on his way at just about the time he was supposed to pick me up.
I decided if he was going to be late anyway, there was no sense in me getting ready and sitting around for however long it took him to finally get his butt out of the house and on the road. So I would get ready after he called to say he was on his way. This habit, sorry to say, lapped over into much of the rest of my life. I was on time for school (when I was in school or taking bodywork classes or so on) and work, but otherwise I tended to be late.
After Mom died, I began to be late for work if I took the bus, so I started driving instead. Then I I worked up to getting into work more than a little late, but since I had my car I wasn’t worried because I could stay late to get everything done. And I did, but being late was not a winning strategy with my boss, and it never occurred to me to see if I could call it “working flextime”. Bad, bad habit.
I asked Steve once why he was always late picking me up (even after we stopped dating) and he got more than a little pissy with me about it, said it was his recreational time and he didn’t want to have to be on a schedule the way he had to be for work and school. It didn’t occur to me until much, much later that it was also my recreational time, and why wasn’t my time as worthy of respect as his own?
Never bothered to ask. As I think I wrote in an earlier post (maybe prior to this project), he never responded well to “why” questions, and this would have been a rather large “why”.
That realization, though, is one of the things that helped me deal with at least some of my habit of lateness: If I wanted people to respect my time the way I wanted Steve to respect it, then how could I justify not respecting other people’s time? Combined with becoming a greeter at the weekly networking meeting, that idea of respecting other people’s time did a lot to change my attitude. Now, I’d much rather be early than risk being late.
It doesn’t always work — the habit didn’t develop overnight, and it’s pretty easy to backslide if I don’t pay attention — but it works most of the time, and that’s a good thing.