A Procrastinator's Christmastime Challenge

I’m sitting at this keyboard and I’m freezing. I am freezing because my house is cold and I should have taken a warm shower a long while ago after sweating out five pounds in a Bikram (i.e. severely hot) yoga class. I did not do this yet and my fingertips are blue and I'm shivering.

I’m sitting here typing while also staring at a stack of gorgeous family photos on Christmas cards, which were received in the mail today. At the same time, my stack of Christmas cards remains sealed in plastic wrapped packaging, unaddressed. 

I’m still sitting here, obviously, with full knowledge of the unwrapped Christmas gifts, which cover the entire floor of my bedroom. Fancy gold ribbon and silver foil paper and cute gift tags lay next to those gifts. I haven’t touched any of them yet except to burrow a path from my side of the bed to the bathroom so I don’t take a tumble in the dark when I get up at night.

I have a long list of things I haven’t done yet.

And I also have an idea of why I keep putting off every thing that is HO HO HO related (including today’s shower which is technically due to pure laziness). I just don’t feel like doing anything. Period.

It's not how I feel about Christmastime. I’m not in a bah humbug mood either. I love the holidays.

It’s almost as if I feel paralyzed to do anything because I don’t feel any sense of pressure yet. And I have no idea why I don’t feel any pressure because, please tell me if I’m wrong, Christmas IS next week. I can’t help it. 

They key component is I have to feel it, the pressure. And I don’t. Not yet.

I don't know if I am a glutton for punishment, although I can rightfully say I work best with a thumb planted firmly on my back, with a deadline. I can cram like nobody’s business and always get my shit done. Thank God I’m not a perfectionist since procrastinators aren’t afforded that luxury anyway. 

There's something just so enticing to me, and more fun-filled, about doing anything other than what I'm supposed to be doing. So maybe then, it's not about being a procrastinator at all. Whatever you call it (what do you call it?), it makes me me and it's not likely to change much no matter anyone's consternation. 

So until I feel it, the pressure, I’ll find things I’d rather do like read, or workout, or eat, or hang out with friends, or read some more. 

The pickle is, once Friday morning comes, the last grain of sand will drop through the hourglass. Time will have expired. There’ll be plans and holiday parties and kids stuff and a warm weather vacation. Life will become its beautiful Christmas chaos. And I'll be left surfing its wave.

By then, no more time to get ready for Christmas.

I should shower and get some shit done, right? I suppose time's doing its ticking thing...

WWW.Wednesday: Turkey Week Book Selections

John Warner writes a column called "The Biblioracle" for the Printer’s Row Journal (the book arm of the Chicago Tribune). In it he reviews books or discusses the merits of different genres but it’s invariably all about books.

Last Sunday, he described his feelings about the short story. After reading a great number of such these last two weeks (by Alice Munro), short story collections may now be a new favorite type. I’m including an excerpt from that article here:

“The very best ones have a kind of diamond hardness, a compression down to only the most essential elements. The sensation of reading a great short story is like having the author remove part of your skull, reach in and scoop out some essential part of your brain you didn't previously know existed, and then display it in front of you.

Reading that over, I realize I've made it sound gross, but I mean to convey how a short story can simultaneously dislocate and reorient the reader. As we are immersed in the narrative, we are quickly and thoroughly dislocated from our own consciousness (a blessing in my case) until the narrative ends and we return to our senses, with a fresh understanding of the world we inhabit. I even occasionally find myself holding my breath as I read, as though I need to suspend all activity while I exist in this other world.”

This is how I feel, too.

What have I recently finished?

I loved every single minute spent with each and every story in this book. If you have not read anything by her, please do. She writes about women of all ages and circumstances, and everyone involved in their lives. Her writing is simply stunning.

What are you reading now?

Because I am currently obsessed with Munro and will read many more (or every) collection written by this author. More than halfway through and I believe I love it even more than the previous one, which is saying a lot.

A few weeks ago I mentioned I was in the mood to read some more spicy material. So I downloaded: 

Wikipedia notes "it was published posthumously in 1977- though largely written in the 1940s as erotica for a private collector." Hmm…

Having read only a few stories, I will reserve judgment on the spice quotient until next week.

What will you read next?

I really have no idea how I’ll feel after Thanksgiving and the kids go back to school. Maybe:

Thanks to Should Be Reading for making this happen!

Are You the Jealous Type?

I am not; nor is my husband. I’m not sure why that is. We just aren’t.

Early in our marriage (probably 3 years in), my husband lost his wedding ring. Actually, we were together skiing, just the two of us in Colorado. Taking his gloves on and off on a cold morning, his ring must have come off too and dropped in the snow. We never did find it and never got another one for several years. I’m not sure why that was either. Probably money.

However, when his ring went missing, it became an invitation of sorts for women to approach him at bars when he was out with the guys watching a ballgame and even sometimes when I wasn’t standing next to him. If I didn’t happen to be there, someone would mention it later. 

He would be all “Huh? What are you talking about?” 

He didn’t get it. He wasn’t paying attention. He, apparently and thankfully, wasn’t interested.

And laughing, I'd say, "Well honey, you are quite the catch."

Last night, my daughter and her daddy shared some bonding time at the mall. It is not his favorite place by a stretch but he acquiesced since it’s where all 22-year-old girls enjoy going. Hence, the conversation upon their return:

Daughter: “Dad. Show Mom what you got at Nordstrom.”

Me: “You shopped…for clothes?”

Daughter: “Yeah. He got a cool shirt and jeans.”

And they were cool. And they’ll look fantastic on him.

Hubby: “There was this hip saleswoman there. She helped me.”

Daughter: “Yea. She was all over dad. Complimenting the jeans he had on, his shoes. She wouldn’t stop talking to him.”

Hubby: “She was just trying to sell me clothes.”

Me: “Sounds like she was flirting with dad. He said she was hot. How old was she?”

Hubby: "I said 'hip' not 'hot' and she wasn't flirting."

Daughter: “He said 'hip'. She was cute but old. And she was totally flirting with him.”

Dad: “Now why would you say she was flirting?”

Daughter: “Because she was, Dad.”

Me: “How old?”

Daughter: “Like 27 or 30.”

Me: “That’s not old. Interesting.”

Dad: “Do you like what we picked out?”

Me: “Absolutely. Go see her anytime you want.”

Dad: “She was just trying to sell me clothes.”