It’s Tuesday, but that could also be known as Procrastination Day. I’m on vacation, so I’m not under great time pressure, but I have tasks that I need to address this week. Today is overcast and drizzly. It’s the perfect day to get things done. I need to write a letter to my class. It’s a school tradition that the fifth grade teachers write a letter to their class and read it at the Moving Up Ceremony at the end of the year. (Note: I believe I am the #%#$@-hole who started this tradition about 15 years ago). We have to write the letter in April, because the parents like to put the letter in the fifth grade yearbook, and that goes to press…soon. My deadline is April 17. I know, after a month of writing a daily slice, it shouldn’t be hard to write a letter. Still, there are so many ways to avoid the task.
Just this morning I have found almost twenty ways to leave my letter:
Just go to the bank, Hank, run a trivial errand, Darren
Make a to-do, Hugh; it’s important to you.
Send an email, Dale, format some pix, Trix
Just take out McGee, Lee, and keep your keys free.
Sadly, I just spent an inordinate amount of time wondering why nothing that I did today rhymed with any known names in the western world. Nothing rhymes with adding 100 songs to a Spotify playlist. Nothing rhymes with hanging a family portrait that’s been sitting around for months (oh wait, “hang a picture on the wall, Paul!), or sending excessively long texts about poems discussed over the weekend, or a reminder to Sarah about meeting with one of my former students who’s touring her college (“Don’t call ‘er, just text ‘er, Dexter,” was the best I could come up with. Seriously, I spent time thinking about that!).
So, since I’m even having trouble writing about the ways that I’m not writing, I think I’ll just publish this post and force myself to get to it.
Just sit and compose, Rose; write a rough draft, Shaft.
No need to delay, Jay, just listen to me.
Just tap on the keys, Louise, no need to fret, Chet
Just get it on the page, Gage, and set yourself free.
Final note: Just for the record, Paul Simon only came up with five ways in his song, not fifty. I counted.