Procrastinating

Less of an over-thinker more of a procrastinator, I become paralyzed by possibilities. A wonderful concept settles in, then compounded by many others, it becomes shelved and nothing at all gets accomplished.  A basket of quick bites to family members counting breaths with their hospice bound mother…coulda shoulda, but just not executing. Meanwhile, the brainless tasks of dishes and laundry are quickly completed. The easy stuff accomplished, while the meaningful stuff goes undone. All heart heavy, scary stuff…the kinda stuff that makes eyes leaky, leaves one looking weak and wordless.

It’s that time of year. Three years ago, I was blessed to sit for 13 days counting my own mother’s breath.  For seemingly no reason, long quiet stares and fatigue are becoming common lately.  Longing either for the coziness of my pillow or a mind-numbing lengthy list of distracting to-dos.  Meanwhile, the gift of history, experience, goes unused.  It’s hard, it’s yucky, it’s not pretty and will likely produce an ugly cry, but it’s what I’ve been trained for. I’ve navigated the rough terrain, I’ve slept in the uncomfortable recliners, I’ve eaten the tasteless cafeteria food, I’ve discerned the glances of doctors. What good is the experience if you can’t use it to help another?  So slowly, I pull one leg, then another followed forward by my heavy heart toward the store…I’m off to fill a basket and stop procrastinating.