Wow, I really didn't know I procrastinated until I read the articles on this subject. When I was young I was a go-getter, worked hard, and had a family, we stocked up for the winter (including canning anything I could find). Somewhere along the line I got tired of it all and started neglecting things. What is the point of cleaning when everyone just messes it up within 10 minutes and no one noticed that it was clean in the first place? There was no reward or appreciation for what I did, so I had a pity party; I still cleaned, but not as thoroughly. I quit canning food once the children were grown because there was no one left to eat it all.
Then the kids moved out and I am left sitting across the table from a strange looking man (he thinks he is sitting across from a strange looking woman). He retired, so if he can - I can. All this time I thought I was just stubborn and possibly a little lazy because I felt unappreciated. Well, now that I am thinking about it, I procrastinate about everything; housecleaning, grocery shopping, cooking, even going to the bathroom. Whatever has to be done will still have to be done later if I don't do it now, and if I do it now, it will still have to be done later; it is a never-ending, pointless exercise.
My husband will let me know he needs razors and I should pick some up the next time I go to the store. He isn't doing anything, just sitting across the table; he could go to the store as easily as I can. Two weeks later, he mentions it again so I figure he is not going to the store and I write the item on my list. Two weeks later there is a new man in the house - he has a beard and wants razors. "Mister, I don't know who you are, but you can get your own razors," I shout. Eventually, I am out of food and am forced to go to the store; I find the list and go shopping. When I finally get around to buying the razors, I find that the price has increased another thirty percent and wonder why I just didn't give in and buy them the first day my husband wanted them.
I bring the razors home, he shaves and I tell him about the weird man with the beard that has been in the house for two weeks. It doesn't occur to him that he didn't go anywhere, but being the protector he is, he gets the shotgun off the wall and plans on waiting for the bearded gent to sneak back in the house. In a few weeks he is going to be shooting out all the mirrors, the police will come, maybe the white-coats; even procrastinators have a plan.