Procrastination–My best friend, my lover, my ENEMY. I am the most powerful procrastinator that has ever lived. I have truly truly mastered the art of procrastination. If there ever was some sort of award handed out to the The Grand Procrastinators of America, I would definitely be a recipient. Sadly, that award could never exist since no one would ever get around to actually making it and everyone would probably be late to the awards ceremony anyways. Sigh, I am a trifling bitch. Just now I got distracted for about two hours just trying to write this stupid post. I fell into a Youtube hole and went on a Midnight Special/glam rock binge. I started with this:
and ended with this:
To be fair, it was a worthy distraction.
But back to procrastinating. Months ago my friend Evin over at Food Good, Laundry Bad wrote this post about a robot her son made for a school project. If you scroll down and look at the comments, I commented and said I was inspired to write a post about procrastination and my own adventures with school projects. This was over two months ago. Now ::pats self on back:: I have finally started on it!
UGH, I pray that Truman doesn’t put me through the hell I put my parents through. I would always ALWAYS put off school projects until the very last minute. Never in my life have I completed a project in a timely manner. It started in the first grade and lasted until I got my associates degree from community college (I am a high achiever). One of my worst school years was the 3rd grade (did anyone enjoy the third grade?) I feel like that entire miserable year was just project after project. The only highlight of the 3rd grade was when this kid in my class accidentally wore his dad’s pants to school instead of his own. He cried, I laughed (quietly, to myself). That is, sadly, one of my favorite memories from elementary school, and I think that speaks volumes about me.
BUT AGAIN, I DIGRESS. 3rd grade was project after goddamned project. For our unit on Texas Indians, we each had to pick a tribe, write a report, and build a habitat that showed their dwellings, farming system, and native dress. I picked the Karankawa, and I am afraid that I did them a great disservice with the shitty, thrown together habitat I made them. It featured globs of sand from my backyard glued on a piece of cardboard, and hastily drawn pictures of Indians fishing. Cabeza de Vaca did them more justice than I did. Some projects, I didn’t even do. My sister’s good natured, manchild boyfriend did them for me. His work for me included a diorama of Kareem Abdul Jabbar shooting a basket, and a rather impressive marionette of an otter.
Perhaps my greatest school project failure came in the 7th grade. This project was doomed from the start. We were studying Texas culture, and had to do a project on our ancestors, their immigration to Texas, and the impact our culture had on Texas. Being that I am clearly of Mexican descent, it would have made perfect sense to do my project on Mexican-Texan culture. But because I had a huge crush on a boy named Carlo, I decided to do my project on Italian-Texans so I could be in his work group. The project culminated in a big Texas Cultures Fair that was for all the 7th grade parents to attend and was held in the evening. You were supposed to dress in traditional cultural garb, have a huge display, and a dish to share with the parents. I, of course waited until the night before, and my cobbled together display consisted of a three-fold board with the Italian and Texas flags on it. I think I also taped a rosary on there. As for my traditional costume and dish, I threw a scarf on my head and opened up a can of black olives. Needless to say, Carlo was not impressed.
I have countless other stories I could share, but I will spare you. Truman will not be so lucky. I will harangue him with tales of my procrastination and failures so he doesn’t make the same mistakes I did. We are going to be SO on top of things. Luckily, he already has a pretty good track record as he arrived in this world two weeks early. That’s my boy, I guess.