Time to Procastinate

Today is the awaited less-weathersome day, and I am flying to England this afternoon. As I sit here calculating how long I need to allow to get to the airport, and trying not to think of all the things I want to get done before I leave, it seems as if I have ages. Lots of empty time between now and the moment I disappear up the lane in a fading glow of rear lights, leaving Simon alone with the beasts and the burdens.

But I know, with unshakeable certainty, that however much time I have between now and the moment of my departure, when that moment comes I will be rushing around in a very unmindful and unbecoming manner, trying, at the last minute, to cram at least sixty minutes worth of deferred activity into a panic-ridden sixty seconds. Why? Why do I do that? Always. With such irritating predictability.

It makes me think of all those well-meaning bosses and college tutors who have, over the years, tried to introduce me to the undoubted joys of Effective Time Management. Obviously without success. They might as well have suggested a brain or personality transplant. They all seem to think that planning how to use your time, and then STICKING TO THE PLAN, is the ONLY way to get everything done, efficiently and effectively. But come on…. how can it be efficient to spend time on planning the use of time, when you could be using that time to actually do the things you are planning to do?

Meh! What do they know? What I know is that, somewhere, deep inside my being, is some sort of intuitive life-organiser, who keeps watch on what’s going on and what’s needed, and filters out all the really unnecessary, icing-on-the-cake bits of work and, through dint of the energy burst that comes with pressure of the Last Minute, sees to it that all the Stuff That Matters is dealt with. The things that get left undone, didn’t really need doing in the first place, and everything is ok.

And anyway, Time is not a Real Thing, so how can it be managed? I can look at the clock and be surprised to find that the last minute had a whole hour squashed into it, (which is really cool, when you are trying to write a report five minutes before presenting it at a meeting), or that the couple of minutes I spent reading about The Mutiverse on the New Scientist Website actually used up two hours, and it’s already time to feed the pigs again!

Oh well, suddenly I have a sense that Time is Marching On, and that it must therefore be time for a cup of tea and a biscuit, while I contemplate whether to bother downloading the bus timetable for the buses from East Midlands Airport to Derby, or whether to simply trust the Angel of Catching Buses to make sure there is one arriving at the Airport bus stop, just as I step out of the terminal.

As always, I will make my own Time Table. I will put all my time on the table, and start with the nice bits. After all, you never know when your time will end, so you might as well have all the good stuff first. It would be such an arse if time ran out before you got to taste the delicious trifle, while you were still sitting there, working your way through a plate full of horrible, worthy greens.