October 30, 2006

• The Best Procrastination

  I seldom mention the frequent conflicts between my son Doug and
  me.  One reason for that is because conflicts come and go all the
  time and are nothing extraordinarily notable.  Another reason is
  that in my mind the ongoing harmony between us outweighs those
  conflicts that flare up and pass quickly.  Even so, I am often at
  odds with him over things that I want done RIGHT NOW and he doesn’t do
  when I ask, tell, beg, nag, etc.  In contrast to those
  aggravations, I know that he routinely takes care of the tasks such as
  firewood that he knows are necessary, and I have the reassuring
  confidence, born of a quarter century of experience, that he will come
  through for me in a crisis.  He is often better in crises than I
  am.

  So, it all balances out, but I’m more Virgo than Libra so I am never
  really satisfied with halvsies.  Our most recent of these
  procrastination conflicts involved maintaining the cats’
  litterboxes.  In summer, we leave a window open and the cats come
  and go at will.  Mostly they prefer the great outdoors for their
  deposits and we can let the poop scooping slide a day or two. 
  Once that window is closed due to cold weather, that job becomes a
  daily necessity.  With over a dozen cats, there are three litter
  boxes.  Generally, unless I’m under the weather, I scoop the most
  popular one in the hallway, and Doug takes care of the one behind the
  sofa between the computer and the PS2, and the one in his room.

  Recently, the combination of the seasonal shift and my illness left
  Doug in charge of all three boxes and out of the habit of doing it
  regularly.  Add to that the fact that he is running the current
  fanfic writing tournament (time-consuming, demanding, and distracting)
  in addition to his usual weekly online DM gig.  The upshot was
  that litter boxes were neglected too long.  We clashed over it,
  and additionally there has been a minor undercurrent of discontent
  coming from me over his neglecting dishwashing during the
  tournament.  It is minor
  because I expect nothing else during these things, and it exists anyway
  because I prefer tidy stacks of clean dishes over untidy piles of dirty
  dishes.  But, frankly, either of those is preferable to washing
  dishes myself, so….

  Anyway, we’ve had a series of minor clashes lately, with me flaring up
  over my unfulfilled expectations and Doug lashing out at me
  occasionally for interrupting him, breaking his concentration, pulling
  him away from his chosen activities and prior commitments.  Some
  of these flareups work their way into full-blown confrontations, always
  a productive course.  It is far preferable to discuss our
  differences and resolve them than to snipe at each other in passing and
  let the issues ferment as we quietly fume.

  Yesterday when he got up, he surprised me with his reaction when I told
  him that he needed to shovel snow off the roof before dark.  He
  responded amicably as usual, but that didn’t give me any assurance that
  he’d follow through.  He will frequently and skillfully blow me
  off and shine me on with smiles, nods, and yesses.  That time, he
  ate his breakfast at the keyboard as he dealt with the tournament
  activity that had taken place as he slept.  Then he cleared the
  roof of snow and went on to brush off my car and clear the driveway.

  In keeping with my current state of relative well-being, I went out and
  shoveled the footpath to the outhouse and from the front door out to
  the part of the driveway that he was clearing.  That was the first
  time I’ve been up to that task in years, and was the limit of my
  physical activity for the day  We finished up the snoveling after
  sunset as the light was fading.  Before I went to bed I persuaded
  Doug to split some moderate-sized rounds instead of trying to burn them
  whole, because that practice had caused the fire to go out the night
  before.  He agreed, and complied.  I scooped my usual litter
  box and reminded him to do the other two.  He said he would, but
  then he never does say he won’t, even when he doesn’t.

  The fire lasted through the night as I slept and he did his online
  tasks.  As I was getting up before dawn this morning, he was
  finishing up the kitty litter scooping in preparation for retiring for
  his “night”.  Passing his bedroom door just after the light had
  gone out, I thanked him for his recent prompt and cheerful
  cooperation.  He recognized the subtext implying its novelty, and
  muttered something that equated to, “you’re welcome.”  Then he
  added, “I’ll slack off later.  That’s the best kind of
  procrastination.”

  

  • 1:49 pm
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