Popping Wheelies of Seeming Independence from Procrastination

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trahan


I’ve had some difficulty through the years with procrastination, splayed focus and clutter in my life, and I acknowledge this. A Methodist church I worked at during a good portion of the ’90s even gave me the opportunity to deliver a lay sermon I titled Put Off Procrastination. But acknowledging a problem and actually doing something about it has proven difficult.

With clutter, for example, I’m no pack rat or hoarder, but clutter tends to reside on my kitchen table and on my desk until I get so irritated with it, I resign myself to a cleaning day — actually only a few hours at most — where I sort through, file, box-up or throw things away so they are not in my sight. Some clutter is gone, some still exists, but some I can no longer see. The problem is not really solved but it is seemingly solved by not being as visible.

This is a trait I seem to have inherited from my father, Po. Ever since I’ve known him, Po has taken pride in how meticulously organized he is. A place for everything and everything in its place. As the years have gone on, however, there are simply more everythings and less places to put them … and less time and patience to sort. So much so that he has often lost track of what he has and where it is stored. (Really. One day I counted 32 screwdrivers in varied locations. And that was just the ones I saw.) So he has some clutter issues and some issues with letting go. Not entirely his fault as, at 90 years old, he has only so much energy to tackle things. So if he has difficulty finding something, he assumes he doesn’t have it and goes out to buy a new one … perhaps there is also a sale on screwdrivers.

So I understand where I get it from. I can look at clutter, acknowledge it, be a bit irritated by it and say I should do something about it and convince myself of a later time being better to tackle the issue. And 3 to 6 months later, I look at my kitchen table or desk and start dealing with it.

Write what you know, they say.

Ah, procrastination and splayed focus. I long for the day when I am independent of procrastination. This column, for example, has been a daily struggle of procrastination, splayed focus and writer’s block for six weeks. I’ve had excuses and reasons, yes, but looking back they could have been worked around if I just got over the “hump” and — as Nike says — Just Doed It.

With regard to writer’s block, I’ve done research on ways to overcome. But one of my rules about writer’s block is not to write about writer’s block.

See what I did there?

As I prepared to write my next column back in June — this one I am writing in late July — I had in my mind that with July 4th approaching, and all that went with honoring history and Independence Day, I should tie that into the subject matter. But as much as I appreciate history, I wouldn’t call myself an expert.

July 4, 2016 was our country’s 240th anniversary of independence from tyranny. But for all the perceived historical tyranny of Brits named Thomas, Richard or Harold, every present day Tom, Dick and Harry certainly likes to put on a British accent — or what they perceive as an acceptable accent.

13820664_10157117338025231_783106132_n


With the political climate changes upon us, and the escalating heat accompanying those involved, I’ve been looking for some independence of all things political, Democrat or Republican, Liberal or Conservative, Disney or Looney Tune. Ah, truth be told, I enjoy me some Disney but I’m more of a Looney Tune fan. Except this year. That main orange maned Looney Tune is far from funny or entertaining to me. My stomach is consistently turned. I long for the stoned, intoxicated wisdom displayed in The Big Lebowski where we constantly hear “The Dude Abides.” The Dude endures. The Dude lives on.

My question is, would the Dude even want to abide with this crap going on?

But I digress.

Mo & Po: Fourth of July wedding and a lifetime of fireworks.
Mo & Po: Fourth of July wedding and a lifetime of fireworks.

Where to go from there, I wondered? Hey! My folks were married on July 4th and their 63rd anniversary was coming up. Certainly something could be tied in. Like how their marriage would be their independence from the independence of single life. Happy belated, Mo & Po!!

My running joke regarding my parents’ July 4th wedding has always been that they weren’t taking anything for granted. They wanted to be certain they saw some fireworks on their wedding night.

Bada bing … Don’t forget to tip your servers.

Alas, the first of many sit-downs at my desk followed with no flow of anything from my brain. No flow at all. I was blissfully blocked. Curtailed from creativity. Independent of inspiration. Nothing. I couldn’t get a thought in edgewise. Apologies to John Cleese but for all my chirping, this parrot had ceased to be.

And now — right now — it’s after 3 a.m. and I can’t sleep. So I’ve gotten up to write. And I finish that sentence and yawn….

On Wednesday, June 15th, I worked a double at my restaurant job and left that night a bit exhausted from the constant and consistent mode of being on my feet. It was a productive day, with a few laughs, a few challenges, and — astonishingly — little to no glaring errors. I left at around 10 p.m. with more money in my pocket than I had at the beginning of the shift.

Realistically though, my average daily income since the beginning of my employment has just not been enough to get ahead of my monthly expenses and debts. I’ve known for a while that I will need some regular, consistent income and hope for my restaurant job to provide some gravy, as it were. Even so, on June 15th I went home happy that I had survived the day and week up to that point, gratified that I had two days off to relax a bit. I drove home, cooked some dinner and watched a movie. Unbeknownst to me, something else would be cooking in my parking lot.

I woke up to the sunny Thursday morning in a pretty good mood but also a bit groggy from the prior day’s shuffling on my feet. I made some breakfast and drank a coffee. At about 9:30, I received a knock on my door. This was odd as it so rarely happens. (People keep to themselves in my building. As a matter of fact, I have not met too many neighbors in my almost five years of residence. It might be a New England thing. We can be a reclusive bunch. Be that as it may, a knock on my door…)

A Police Officer greeted me and said that it appeared that my car’s tires had been stolen during the night. Grogginess aside, I went outside to assess the damage. A neighbor was also outside as he had reported his car window being smashed. Turns out someone broke into his car, jacked his jack and spare tire, and propped up my car to steal my tires – and as it turned out, my wheels as well.

Such an odd thing to steal, I thought.

But there lay my Honda Civic, hugging the pavement and looking sickly, now independent of its tires and wheels. I was in shock, yes, but I also felt like a parent to a sick pet. My car looked helpless and ill — even embarrassed, not wanting to be seen this way — and I had simply chosen a profession other than doctor to infirmed cars.

The Police Officer took some photos, collected the few scattered lug nuts he saw, and left his card. I met a few neighbors who were very nice and offered their condolences regarding the circumstances and I went inside to begin the work of my day(s) off. I could not have been more pleased with the help I received. From Gabriella, Samantha & Samuel at Geico to Liz, Joe & Joel at AutoFair Honda to Kris at Bentley Towing — all extremely helpful, reassuring and worked to make the next few days of renting and repairing as comforting as possible for my psyche. Of course I wasn’t expecting the expense, even if it was only my deductible. It was yet another thing to tack on to the mountain of debts I had acquired. Someday I will be independent of those debts. Or so we are led to believe…

An understated Happy Anniversary to my folks.
An understated Happy Anniversary to my folks.

Mo & Po’s 63rd anniversary came and went with little or no fanfare which is pretty much how my parents are, comfortably independent of the spotlight. They’ve both had their health issues recently which is burdensome for them (and a concern for me) but they still are able to get around, shop for themselves, do projects around the house and be independent, to a degree.

13819743_10157117338040231_713166065_nI still have a handful of assorted lug nuts more than a month later, cluttering my kitchen table. And that orange maned Looney Tune has been officially nominated, looking more like Mussolini than anyone I want representing my country.

Now there’s a lug nut for you, independent of any sort of Dude-ness.

Just Dude It.

Write what you know, they say.


Click here to catch up on Gary Trahan’s A Plague On Words archives.


trahanGary Trahan of Manchester, NH, has written and performed throughout New England, Colorado, Florida and New York City. Gary has written plays, sketches, screenplays and humor columns, including for almost three years as part of a rotating team of humor columnists submitting for the Encore section of The Nashua Telegraph. “Gare” received his BA from UMass/Amherst another lifetime ago, and has been learning lessons ever since. Writing and other forms of creativity help to keep him sane, uh, sanER. You can reach him at gareman2@aol.com.


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