Archive for the ‘Procrasta-ME’ Category

I’ve eaten lunch since I wrote this, so my blood sugar’s back on track

I have heartburn all the way down to my toes and the 48 Tums I have ingested this morning haven’t helped a wink. I don’t think the Costco Chimichanga I brought to eat for lunch is going to help things, but a Frosty from Wendy’s will probably go a long way towards healing. Blended with Oreos of course.

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Having woken up three mornings in a row with a strange lump on the back of my neck (that drains by afternoon and seems to go away), I have been feverishly consulting Dr. Google all day. I guess if it concerned me the other two days, I should have been Googling back then, but hey! it was the Canada Day holiday and I had better things to do, like enjoying the high temperatures and eating gargantuan amounts of watermelon. Today I have nothing better to do but work, so OF COURSE there’s time for obsessing over WebMD. So far, I’ve managed to rule out Parkinson’s Disease, Lyme Disease and African Sleeping Sickness (No, not really, but that was House’s diagnosis of his patient the other night and my symptoms don’t exactly match hers. Okay, they don’t match at all. Also, she had blonde hair and I don’t).

Lymphoma was mentioned, but that’s extreme and my husband would only roll his eyes if I told him it was suspect. I have a leeeeetle problem with Hypochondria, especially when it relates to using my toe cancer as an excuse not to have sex. This is an undiagnosed disease that I’ve suffered from for almost seventeen years, since I got married in 1991, and it flares up at least once a week.

I think I’ve narrowed it down to the lump being caused by scratching at my scalp due to some dandruff I’ve had lately (TMI!) and causing a little infection of the lymph nodes. I’ll probably go to the doctor eventually, if I get a minute between taking my youngest to football practice three times a week starting tonight. Of course, I also left the buying of the football cleats to sometime between getting home from work tonight, cooking dinner, eating dinner, cleaning up from dinner and getting on the practice field by 7:00. I sure hope they have his size at 7-11.

See? I have no time to be sick anyways, so ignoring it is probably the easiest option.

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I’ll be dead soon anyways, due to my stupid neighbour who thought it would be considerate to run his very loud, muffler-less Harley for TEN MINUTES this morning at 6 a.m. before leaving for work. See, the next time he does it I’ll surely be sentenced to the electric chair for stealing that bike, repeatedly running over his junk with it and then sticking the handle bars up his nose for good measure!

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Last Minute Meltdown

Looks like procrastination has gotten me in trouble once again. Richard just called me at work and he used his angry voice. The sale of our house closes tonight and he was just over there dropping off the last key and doing a final walk through to make sure we’d gotten everything.

That’s when he found them.

DUHN. DUHN. DUHN!

The six boxes of Girl Guide stuff that I should have unloaded a year ago. Heh.

(this is where we insert the Cheap Bastard’s angry voice. He had to huff and puff and throw those boxes in the back of our van. Which, GOD, I arranged to drop them off tonight already. And by arrange I mean I called her this afternoon and begged her to take them)

I haven’t been involved in Guiding for over a year and yes, I’ve had all this time to call the District Commissioner and ask her where she’d like the boxes delivered.

When we decided to sell the house in January Richard said, “you must call DC and get rid of those boxes.”

In February, when we moved into the new house (and I knew we still had at least a month to get our stuff out of the old house) he said, “you need to have those boxes out in the next couple of weeks!”

When we sold the house mid-February he yelled, “BOXES!!! OUT!!!! NOW!!!”

And the whole time I agreed that yes, yes, I’d get right to that task. The boxes, they would be gone forthright.

Today’s conversation involved a lot of words that contained the words “mother” (but not meaning my MIL…or his), “son-of-a” (not in reference to our ten year-old bundle of joy) and “ass” (not the one I’m currently sitting on). Oh and he also exclaimed #$**/#@ BOXES!

Gosh, I just don’t know why he gets so bent about these things. He knew who I was when he married me. (It’s not like I tricked him into marrying me by getting pregnant. At nineteen.) He KNOWS I do everything last minute. Everything including:


  • Filling out forms and writing cheques (I’ve bribed the hot lunch lady at school once or twice, so she’ll take our order late. Good thing she’s my good friend. From Girl Guides coincidentally).

  • Signing day planners for the kids (see running out the door whilst pulling on shoes, with pen in teeth)

  • Buying birthday presents the day before and even the day of.

  • Taxes and RRSP planning (April 30th and February 28th respectively).

  • Making doctor and dentist appointments (“Yes, but can you fit us in TODAY? The boil, it is protruding. How about tonight? It has sprouted little legs. Tomorrow morning, but that’s my last offer! It is quoting Shakespeare! Okay, two weeks from Tuesday it is.”)

  • Changing our address with the post office.

He’s just such a nag. Such a Mouthy Martha. Such a Worrying Wanda.

I’ll have to give him a piece of my mind tonight…after I get home from the post office.

Had great ideas. Blogged very little.

I got this from RedBook, but I’ve seen it all over the blaawgosphere. Basically, you have to write your memoir in six words.

Mine are:

PROCRASTINATED TOO LONG. NEVER GOT WRITTEN

BECAUSE I WAS MOM, THAT’S WHY!

MADETHIS CARROT CAKE*. DIED HAPPY.

(*seriously ya’ll, go make this cake! I made it on Friday night and it was gone by Saturday morning. So, so delicious! I’m heading to Costco tonight to stock my fridge with cream cheese and carrots, so I always have a supply of ingredients for this cake. Also buying bigger pants.)

So, what’s your six word memoir?

Letters to Mahself

Dear Lazy McSlotherson:

You can too find time to exercise. You get home at 4:30 every day and are done supper by 6:30. That leaves 3-4 hours free to get your butt walking up that hill, shaking your hiney to your favourite tunes on your FakePod (except for those damned High School Musical songs that the kids put on there months ago and you haven’t removed….and AAAK! Chicago is still there too. It’s hard for me to say I’m sorry). You really DON’T need to spend every evening watching reruns of The Office on the DVR. Michael’s cooked foot will be there forever and you already know which bear is the best bear.

Exercise! Your fat ass will thank you for it.

Love,
Naggy McNaggerson

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Dear Scaredy McFraiderson:

Quit thinking negatively about your upcoming schooling. Don’t you see that questioning your willpower and work ethic is only going to end in failure? So it’s going to take 5-7 years of hard work to get this done. Don’t you see that the lost sleep and lack of personal time is going to pay off big time?

Think of the fantastic career you’re going to have. A career that you chose! You’ll only be in your early forties when you’re done. Imagine, you’ll have all those years to work your way up. To challenge yourself. And don’t say this outloud to anyone, but think of the MONEY! Maybe you could buy a pair of designer shoes (that you’d have to hide the real cost from Cheap Bastard your loving husband, but you’ll be an accountant. You can massage the numbers). Maybe your kids won’t have to worry about university. Maybe you can retire at 55!

You CAN find the time to study. You WILL succeed. Designer shoes!

Love,
Peppy McRahRahson

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Dear Bloggy McBlogerson:

Step away from the keyboard and get yee ass to the bathroom. You have to pee.

Love,
Bladdery McFullerson

Far and Away

Hello, I’m not here.

Instead, I am here.

Come visit me over at Karen’s place where you will learn all about the sort of stupid, but sort of great new life adventure I am about to embark on. And no, I am not pregnant. But that may have been easier.

Just to recap. Not here. Here.

(Hey you! The slow guy in the back. Iiiiiii’mmmmm. Noooooooooottttt. Heeeeeee….Aw, just forget it. You’d get lost on the journey anyways.)

Back to life. Back to reality. Back to the here and now.

I must have found my legs again after a lengthy drawn out winter, as I went on a long walk tonight to pick up Andie from Guides. They meet two schools over from ours, so the walk was a decent trek and mostly uphill. I’m taking my camera next time though, so I can shoot some pics of all the things I need to be more appreciative of (and to remind myself, when I’m down and wanting to move back to Calgary, of just why that would be a stupid thing to do). Between the mountains and the trees and the smell of newly cut grass and spring blooms, I was in paradise.

Before I set out for my walk I did a little weeding in the rock garden. Correction, I half filled our green-waste receptacle with unwanted foliage. The weeds were so high they were blocking the actual plants and I became so ashamed of the two foot high stalks that when I would pull up to our house I would put my hood up and dart out of the van into the front door as quickly as possible to avoid the glares and silent ridicule I just knew my perfect neighbours were directing my way. Perfect Neighbours cut their grass on a regular basis, not just when Pluto is visible in the afternoon sky. And/or the sixth Tuesday of every month.

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Heads up! Eleven is coming to live at our house for a whole year starting tomorrow. Please pray for us in our hour of need.

symptom #4 billion and eight

cartoon from www.weblogcartoons.com

Cartoon by Dave Walker. Find more cartoons you can freely re-use on your blog at We Blog Cartoons.