When I’ve got someone to work for, I work. I work myself into a frenzy. I can speed-clean an entire house in three hours, down to taps and laundry. I can make entire dinners, shop, set the table and decorate, clean the house, serve, be the hostess, and clean up afterwards. I am willing to work for hours and hours and hours putting together a party or other special event. In high school, I stayed up into the wee hours every time I had an essay or project due the next day.
I am most motivated to do the dishes or clean the house when I know people are coming over, or I know it’s annoying my family that things are not cleaned up (I’m living with my mom and two younger brothers right now).
Yet, without an impending deadline (project due in 4 hours; company coming in 3 hours; leading worship in 2 hours; teammates expecting emails yesterday) or people to motivate me to work, I slack. I sit on my heinie for hours, reading, blogging (gasp!), watching downloaded TV shows, chatting, eating, you name it, all except for doing anything productive.
Case in point: back in the fall, after my sister moved out of her room, I, very hopefully, bought two cans of paint. The house my mom lives in is cheap-o in every regard, including the paint, and we didn’t paint a thing when we moved in about ten years ago, then proceeded to apply stick tac, tape, tacks, and regular wear-and-tear to the walls, making them appear as if they’d be more at home in a refugee camp.
The room was originally mine, and me, being the eccentric artsy-fartsy person I am (shout out to you, SammyHammy), I covered it in pictures, posters, collages I made from magazine ads, and random other junk. When Leah took over, she retained a lot of what I had, and added her own, covering even part of the ceiling! The poor walls had been tortured by tape, tacks, and stick-tac for about eight years, until I finally ripped it all off sometime in November.
Some background information you should know: Since I moved back to my mom’s house in August of last year, I’ve been living in my youngest brother’s old room. He has cerebral palsy and has always had a wheelchair and all sorts of special equipment. A few years ago, his first-floor, right-inside-the-front-door room in this tiny, translucent house was renovated–the closet was removed and a bathtub installed in the neighboring bathroom. A track was hung on the ceiling so that Littlest Bro could be swung from his bed, through what are essentially cupboard doors, into the tub. All fine and dandy, for a guy who could really care less who’s up ’till all hours watching movies in the living room a handful of feet down the hall ’cause he sleeps soundly no matter what. Not a problem for a kid who isn’t made uncomfortable by the loud echoed sounds of peeing whenever anyone uses the washroom, especially boys (more distance to travel, you know). But for me? Freaking annoying! I’ve gone a bit postal on my family a few times when I wanted to sleep at 1:00 am and they were still up. I’ve turned up my music when people use the bathroom and I’m in my room, or I’ve simply left, but it’s getting ridiculous!
Now that the stage is set, you understand why I should have been raring to get our other spare room painted and livable (I’m going to have to steam clean the carpet first, too). It wasn’t until last week that I finally started to attend to the walls, which, of course, needed to be scraped, washed and rinsed, puttied and sanded, and primed twice before they could be painted. After slacking for two and a half of the free days I had last week, I did about 2.5 hours of work.
This week, I had Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday mornings, all day yesterday, and today off. You’d think that, during that time, I’d continue the project, and even have ample time to finish it. Logically, you’re right. I wish that had been the case, but no. I didn’t do anything ’til today, Friday, around 2:20 pm, when I perused my progress, then went around once more with a bucket of primer, priming everything I thought needed to be primed, which included a lot of second coats. Then I searched in the basement for some trim paint and rinsed my brush out, and found a paint tray. Took it all upstairs and set it down.
And now it’s 4:16 pm, and you should have noticed by now that my hands are not, I repeat, NOT holding a paintbrush or anything like it. I’m distracted by writing a blog about slacking. Things have sunk to a new low, perhaps, or perhaps blogging about slacking is actually somewhat productive (Jimi thinks so… more about him later)!
Would someone please come over and watch me work just so I have a reason to stop slacking?! PLEASE!!!
Alright, this confession is officially over. I do hope it has redeeming values somehow!