Procrastination

I have become a procrastinator. I used to be an amateurcrastinator, but I've recently achieved pro status. This morning I scrambled out of bed at quarter past six and headed to the computer to write this with only that quick stop at the coffee pot to slow me. I thought I'd peek in first at the Denver Post where I read about Denver's impending snow storm and then I headed over to Yahoo news and finally landed on Internet sites Common Dreams, Too Much and Alternet. It's now eight o,clock.
I've learned a lot about Michael Vick - what an idiot - the woman who shot the kid who shot the kids in Colorado, why the rich are getting richer, the democratic presidential race, why J. R. Smith lost his jump shot and a dozen other consequential and inconsequential happenings about the world at large and small, but I've completely lost sight of what I was going to write. Does anybody know? No? Well, no matter I'll think of something. Or, if not, I'll write about nothing which, as you know, remains my favorite topic.

A couple days ago I wrote about a storm. I was premature. (Hmmm, and probably still am if pre-mature is what you are before you reach maturity. What is maturity anyway? Ripeness? I'm ripe, but I've already been picked. Maybe I'm just immature. Childlike not childish Woowoo Charly would say. Whatever, I'm off the track again and plowing through a field of dreams.)We had a storm the night following that storm that made the first one seem like a wuss. (Wuss is a real word. Slang, but a real word. I looked it up. It means wimp. I didn't look up wimp, but I probably should have being right there in the W's and all.) The rain came down so hard I was sure there would be no paint left on our cars in the morning. Luckily they're turtle waxed and those turtles did a damn fine job.

I drove my car, Nikita, with the busted spring on one side making it list to the right, an oil leak and a dead head lamp to The Car Guys, Marcos and Paulino the morning after the storm. They said they'd get right on it. I'm thinking, I'll get it back in time for Christmas. On the way there I had to drive under a telephone pole that was leaning over the road at a 45 degree angle and was threatening to complete its groundward journey at any moment. Several Union Fenosa - our crack power company - employees were leaning on their trucks some fifty yards away looking puzzled as to what to do. They solved the problem fairly quickly though, by blocking the road with yellow crime scene tape. RTGFKAR, who was coming to pick me up at The Car Guys, had to go around the long way. The telephone pole is made of concrete and I'm guessing the rain had so softened the ground that the pole's base had become unstable. Whatever. I'm sure Union Fenosa will get right on that as well. The road should be open again just about the time I get my car back.

And now I remember what I was going to write.

I'm not a complainer. Neither is Woowoo Charly or RTGFKAR. We are easy going, laid back, go with the flow people. This is not a good thing. We need a complainer. Because of our inability to voice our displeasure in any forceful manner, we have a hard time getting anything done correctly and on-time unless we do it ourselves; a thing not always possible. I have a new found appreciation for the "squeaky wheel getting oiled" theory and I'm vowing here and now to get on other people to get things done and no damn excuses. Problem is, I'll probably procrastinate.