The blur of motion, the swoop of it—I instantly recognized the hummingbird from the office desk where I was writing progress notes. The impulse to jump from my chair was strong. The responsibility of a potentially dry feeder tugged on my heart like the moon when it was lassoed by Gru, the point-nosed leader of the Minions.
But with a firm hand on my shoulder, I pressed myself back into the seat. To complete the task, to see it through to a genuine stopping place, there is peace in that. One of eighteen would be checked off the list instead of zero of eighteen.
Fast forward, and I’m at two done with the day drawing to a close. It’s past work time, even though there are no rules.
I feel crunched for time like an aluminum can.
Life has kept me away from the book club for two months, and I’ve gotten lazy this month. With four days until dinner and discussion, I don’t know what the book is, don’t have the book in my possession, and if you can believe it, I have not read a single word.
But that can change.
It must. It will.
Once upon a time, I achieved a master ‘s-level skill set in procrastination. College and grad school showed me the way. And however rusty I am, it’s nothing a little shoe polish, Brillo pad, and elbow grease can’t shine up.
Found the book!
I’m seventeen pages in, and the words flow like melted butter. This line—
“That temper will get you burnt at the damn stake, Mama Mags used to tell her. A wise woman keeps her burning on the inside.”
—I like it enough to keep going.
There’s hope for me yet.
If all goes according to plan, I’ll spend the next four days buried in a book I should have started weeks ago, arriving at book club with just enough preparation to avoid public humiliation.
A strategy that has served me surprisingly well for most of my academic career.
Wish me luck.
Love,
Jaclynn