It isn’t uncommon for us to struggle with procrastination from time to time but when help comes inadvertently from my dogs they teach me another valuable lesson at the same time.
Even with the windows fully open and the blinds angled to let in the air, it becomes quickly evident that there is no air, at least none that will make much difference to the sweltering heat.
Daisy is panting in short sharp breaths as she lies lengthways across the bed. Nelly lies up the middle making a perfect “T” and little room for me.
I swing my right leg out onto the wooden floor for momentary respite and wonder if I really need to write a post for Sunday.
It’s the closest I have come to missing a week bereft as I am of inspiration due to an excess of heat and leaving it far too late to think of anything.
It seems that physical as well as emotional discomfort is a cause of procrastination.
I browse through a few of my favourite newsletters in search of a muse.
Nelly pushes her legs backwards in the midst of a dream and I inch closer to the edge.
I become sleepily engaged in a piece about identity but not engaged enough and I find my eyes closing over re-read paragraphs and give up the fight.
On Wednesday morning in the early hours I am woken by some strange telepathy I enjoy with Daisy.
I open my eyes to see her bolt upright listening intently at something.
I try to go back to sleep but something in her urgency won’t let me.
I listen too, and I can hear someone moving outside in the thin early light.
Peering through the blinds there is a man I recognise from around here standing in a neighbour’s front garden.
He disappears from view but does not reappear.
I get some clothes on and go outside.
The man is standing doing something intricate with his hands at my neighbour’s door although there appears to be nothing in his hands.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He mumbles something I can’t make out.
“What are you doing?”
He looks at me without any hint of surprise.
“I’m making a documentary.”
“What?”
“I’m making a documentary for Channel 4.”
The conversation which follows, if you can call it that, reminds me of the ones we used to have with my late mother-in-law when she was in the later stages of Alzheimer’s.
He doesn’t seem distressed but he is confused. I think about calling the police but don’t want to alarm him.
Eventually, he disappears around the corner from which I often see him approach after I suggest it might be time to go home.
When I go back to bed Daisy settles immediately.
Later that day I get a number of jobs done in the garden that I had been procrastinating over for weeks because I’m looking after the puppy and multi-tasking needs to be kept to a minimum in order to do that effectively.
Afterwards, we share a celebratory ice lolly.
“Thanks for keeping me focused there Nelly. That was a productive afternoon.”
I begin to reassess my assertion that procrastination occurs when the imagined pain of doing something remains more powerful than the pain of not doing it and a different thought takes its place.
In the article on identity which I returned to the next morning, there is an observation that people become obsessed too much with living what they consider to be an “important” life.
Just living is enough without the constant necessity to judge how well or badly we are doing. Dogs understand this.
In responding to their insistence upon staying in the moment I overcame procrastination, helped a confused man cease his documentary making, erected an elaborate structure for my peas to climb up, and got this post written.
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