Procrastination frequently rules my life somewhere. There is almost always something I actively avoid or put off. Sometimes it is at home, sometimes at work, sometimes in the blog. Something in life may be sliding or falling apart, but somewhere else, I am incredibly productive. My kitchen is spotless, my floors vacuumed, but I am avoiding clearing the dining room table or posting to the blog or replying to a customer.
Lately (as you may have noticed), I have avoided blogging. There are many reasons for this avoidance. I have been busy with work. Every time I start to post, Toni deposits herself in my lap. I have been knitting nonstop, but I do not have any pretty pictures of that knitting to share. I do not want to admit to procrastination in mailing my red scarves. I frequently start posts in my head or on a sheet of scrap paper, but they do not make it to TypePad.
I have struggled with the procrastination beast for all of my adult life. Generally, it has something to do with writing and my own writing demons. I have read many books about procrastination. One of them helped me finish my undergraduate thesis. I have been to therapy, and I know why writing can tie me up in knots. Sometimes, those 20 year old demons still render me helpless when faced with writing anything more complex than a grocery list or a quick email message. Stringing a bunch of related sentences into paragraphs and collecting those paragraphs into an essay or article paralyzes me. And I end up tied into knots unable to face a keyboard. I retreat to my secret procrastination places occupied by knitting needles, cats, and a sinkful of soap suds.
My (first) senior year in college, a psychiatrist told me I was self-sabotaging because I was afraid to face life after MIT; I just needed to buckle down and do my work. Later, a good therapist helped me find the precise events that turned writing into a problem for me. Poking that wound still upsets me if I am deep in a procrastination cycle. Another therapist and extensive cognitive therapy taught me many ways to trick myself into taking small steps to accomplish a complex writing task. There are times, though, when my arsenal of tools fails me, and I choose either consciously or unconsciously to slide back to my procrastinating ways.
I started blogging in July 2002 to give myself a safe place to write. Somewhere to share my wooly passions with other crazy fiber artists. A place where I would not be judged or graded. Most importantly, someplace to write about whatever I wanted to—instead of only about how presidential politics affects domestic policy. Somewhere along the line, I finished the thesis about presidential politics. I started (not) writing project plans and database documentation. The blog was still a place to write about non-technical stuff. Then, I started the new job. I no longer write for work. These days, my blog is the only place I write. And in January, my writing demons followed me here. And I hid with the knitting, the cats, and the dirty dishes.
Tonight, I am out of hiding. I will write a bit every day. I may not post here every day—but ultimately that is my goal. Look for more words from me in the coming weeks and months. I will stop hiding out with the needles, the cats, and the soap suds, and I will overcome my demons one more time.
