Procrastination: or sometimes it just feels like Fate is against me.

by Kristine Jelstrom-Hamill


Here it is, a dreary, rainy day in January. The kids are asleep, wiped from a weekend of skiing, and the husband swears he’s off to bed early. “Ah ha!” the voice in my head cries. This is it. No excuses. I pour myself a glass of wine and prop my laptop on my knees. OK, so a few pesky emails while the husband finishes up whatever it may be he’s doing, then it’ll be me and the rain drops.

What’s this? A sudden phone call from his office? Procedures forgotten, overlooked?

The rain drops are still pattering on the roof, but my own clicks of the keyboard seem overshadowed by his. I drank my wine way too fast and now wonder if I should pour another.

Is he almost done? Will he go to bed and leave me an hour of tranquility to write?

No, he will talk. He will tell me about the issue. I will nod and try to be sympathetic. In reality, I think damn his job. This was it, my night to write. Twelve hundred words or less. Piece of cake. I’d dazzle them with my winter’s wit.

Could it be? Is that my daughter moaning in her sleep? She who never sleep walks or talks or grinds her teeth. Tonight, the night of bad dreams?

I will not give up. One more paragraph to prove I tried. To show something creative.

On a dreary, wet January night, the rain spattered on the windowpanes, and I dreamed of somewhere else. Safe and warm in my heated house and oversized armchair, my mind wandered across frozen wastelands and vibrant jungles and endless deserts. Characters flitted by but never paused long enough for me to capture them.

Slap. His laptop is shut. Lights out regardless of my presence still in the room. Questions about towels and dishes. Am I procrastinating?

I’d rather believe it Fate. Gazing down with Her benevolent eyes. Tonight She is laughing at me I think.