I’m not sure how anyone else feels inside while they’re procrastinating, but me, I’m jumbled up, snappy and terrible. Why do I procrastinate then – hmm, good question!
There are things I should be doing – like cooking a truck load of mince for my young adult son. I promised I would but honestly, I can’t stomach the look of the stuff, let alone the smell. I know why too. I hate mince because over the past twenty child rearing years, I’ve cooked way too much of it. Why – because kids love mince in every which way it comes, and maybe that’s because no matter what you add, it pretty much tastes the same.
I can’t eat spaghetti bolognese any more, savour mince makes me gag and tacos are only marginally better. I can barely even type the words meat balls and Sheppard’s pie is equally as atrocious. So, as you can see, it’s time for mince and I to part ways.
Only, I’ve gone and offered to cook up packets and packets of it for my young adult son. Then, after it has cooled, I’ll have to spoon it into small portions and fight each meal sized amount into irritating little plastic bags ready for the freezer. You might be wondering why he eats so much mince. It’s all to do with bulking and cutting and clean eating and building muscles but that’s a topic for another day, or better yet, never.
Back to my procrastinating: I know that when I get the job in hand done, I will feel so much better. I’m like this when I’m writing a difficult scene in one of my stories too. I’ll find anything and everything else to do rather than planting my bum in the seat and tapping away till the scene is out of my head. I’ll furiously iron and hang out the washing, then walk the dog and do it all in a frenzy, quicker and quicker, running from one thing to another until I can’t stand it any more. Then finally, finally I sit down and write.
Right, I’d better get on with that mince.