procrastination makes the heart grow warmer

Let's see now. I've gone to a holiday party. That for sure counts as major and desperate procrastination. I've  spent hours searching for the perfect set of specs. Oh. And a perfect pair of socks. I've watched worse than bad TV on the tube, almost puking my guts out over 'Christmas Specials.' I ate leftover Thanksgiving pumpkin ice-cream. Blech. You'd think I'd be ready to sit down and grade the effing term papers by now, but no. Oh. Here I am writing about procrastinating.

Let's take them in order:

Spectacles: Do you know how many eyeglass frames there are out there? This alone should be enough to procrastinate well into Retirement when I won't need any more excuses. I found a company I like called Mykita. Had fun reading more about the internal fights between the founders of the company, and their philosophy on Asian nose bridges than searching for the perfect pair. Further procrastination: finding a place in San Francisco that covers Mykita (there were two retro frames I actually liked). And then a whole evening in the Castro and Noe Valley— Funny that opticians here are open very late. This seems to be an evening entertainment in the City. For first dates? Nothing else to talk about? Procrastination? Oh. Let's look at spectacles.  I found Spectacles for Humans looking like it was closed. But no, I think they were just saving energy. There was a parking space, so we went in. We talked Mykita. We talked the Ukraine. We talked Zeiss mostly. I've been looking for frames for almost two years. Mostly in procrastination season. Dmitri showed me the exactly perfect set of frames. I spent almost $700 in one night of not grading papers. They weren't Mykita.

Socks: The socks were at least cheaper, but they weren't cheap. This bit of procrastination only wasted about an hour and a half, but it was well worth it.  And, in my own defense, it wasn't my fault we walked into Any Mountain—a place I'm generally too snobby to set foot in, what with Marmot down the block one way, and REI down the road the other way. T was looking at shoes. Blame him. Or, thank him for another hour's diversion.  There were three different sections carrying socks. Oh. Why did I need socks in the first place? I gave my cushy thick socks to my precious daughter, who's working on a film in the cold and snow of Vermont.  So. Hiking socks: boring. Skiing socks: wow. Did you know that skiing socks have built in shin guards? I found a couple pairs I thought might keep me warm. Oh, but then! The snowboarding socks! Brilliant and perfect in every way. Cushy, with the most outrageous sense of humor I've ever seen in real live functional socks. I picked up a pair of chicken feet. And I'm going back for more. The best gift ever! And good for hours more procrastination, given that I bought the last pair at AM.

Christmas effing Specials: My brain is surely mush by now.  And here, it's not my fault. I thought the new season of Eureka and Warehouse 13 had started up. But no, just utter and total Christmas crap that doesn't even fit in with where the season left off. If it weren't for the procrastination value, I'd boycott these shows forever more, not being the forgiving type. But. Credit for two wasted hours not spent grading.

What happened to the good old days, when I spent not-grading-papers painting the house? Or getting tattoos? Or belly dance for the very-very-timid. God I've become an indolent slug.

Ice-cream: This was just sheer self-loathing, I think, at all the procrastination. Self-punishment of the worst kind: leftover pumpkin ice-cream from Thanksgiving still in the freezer. Revolting. And only worth 15 minutes procrastination time. The function of the ice-cream was somehow supposed to make me brave enough to go to the holiday party. If you understand the logic there, be sure to let me know.

The holiday party: Something under normal circumstances I avoid like the plague. What was I thinking? But my good friend, O, the most tolerant friend a friend could have, did the driving and got me out of there when the music started blaring. Whew. Along with the bad-TV antidote, this bit of procrastination was worth about 6 hours, and by then, of course, it was too late to start grading. I got to bed late, and—

Read a book curled up in bed: Which is worth the rest of the night and the next morning. Which means that after walking Rosh at Fort Funston, it is now almost 4:00 PM on Sunday, and I have yet to pick a single paper.

No more excuses! Time is just plain running out now.

But first:

A cup of tea...
Oh. And maybe I should work off that ice-cream first...