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“If you put everything off until the last minute, it only takes a minute.” Ahh yes, the sweet smell of procrastination: a mixture of banana boat suntan lotion and rotting cheese.
For us procrastinators, life is one big pool party up until the point when you realize you put off making that salami sandwich you wanted last week and your mozzarella is now rank. If that analogy makes no sense to you, you’re probably not part of the LMC: Last Minute Club.
Some would dub us the “Lazy Man’s Club” but I beg to differ. I am motivated. I work hard. I just don’t appreciate the unnecessary stress that the clock imposes on my life. Since when did those two spiraling hands become the neo-Nazi in my life forcing me to bow down? At least I’ve been able to come up with some quality work on the fly, although I can’t seem to come up with any examples. Maybe if my brain were more organized, I’d have an idea of where to look.
To me, being organized is pointless. It’s like writing a symphony for a fifth- grade cellist who is just going to butcher it. It’s like washing your car with a 100 percent chance of rain. Bottom line: why bother? Organization may help you out in the short run by being able to find long lost papers, pictures of your dog or that fantastic shirt that always winds up missing, but for me it rarely lasts.
For one full day, my life has order and meaning before eventually settling back into my slump of disaster. Obviously it doesn’t bother me too much. I love my mess, and my mess loves me. I’ve stopped fighting it. It’s just so much easier to give in, sort of like a gazelle that looks into the eyes of a lion and realizes its end is near … only without the bloody death and whatnot.
So what is a procrastinating unorganized fool to do? I’m trying to come to terms with this question. Unfortunately they are not two qualities that are looked upon favorably outside of the college world. I’ve tried putting a positive spin on it: I’m an expert at time management who thrives on the thrill of the hunt. I’ve decided that that’s a flat-out lie. I don’t necessarily enjoy scrambling around in my scattered brain — it’s just become a warm blanket of homeostasis.
My conclusion is that I just need to find a career to suit my needs. I’ve always wanted to be one of those people who sits around and does nothing all day and I don’t think I’m alone: think “Fight Club,” “American Beauty” and
“Office Space.” This position seems to be in high demand with a fair amount of competition. I hope it pays well.
Until then, I’ve developed a couple of pretty surefire coping skills. No. 1: Let your mind wander. Think happy thoughts. Think random thoughts. This way, you’ll never be too bothered for too long about that 10-page paper you should be writing. Hmm, I wonder who invented crayons? I wonder why the aquamarine one gives me the urge to do the funky chicken? I wonder why they taste like Sourdough Jacks? This could go on for hours on end. I believe this is how the great mysteries of the world are solved. This pondering is, of course, aided by the brilliancy of the all-knowing Internet.
No. 2: Take a nap. I’ve recently become a sleep-a-holic. When confronted with a looming deadline or dissheveled living space, I crawl into bed and immediately fall victim to a deep state of comatose. This is the perfect escape route to any of life’s problems. Woes? Worries? All nonexistent in my wonderful world of purple monkeys and talking toasters. The only major issue is the harsh slap of reality upon reentering the conscious realm.
Thanks in part to these tools, I have managed to survive the diseases (or gifts) of procrastination and disorganization. Perhaps someday I’ll outgrow my habits. That, or they’ll just become more defined. Practice does make perfect. Either way, I’m satisfied with how my life is going and the way in which I go about it. Right now, I’m just thankful I got this column done on time. I think I’ll go to bed now.
Submitted March 25, 2004
MALIBU, CA
