Deadlines

Sometimes I wonder about deadlines. 

I usually meet any that are externally imposed upon me, and often I get things done well in advance. It's my nature, or maybe my upbringing, that makes me compliant to rules. That said, the ones I impose upon myself are mysteriously malleable. All Hail to the White Board Marker! The Pencil Eraser! The "it's not that important..." mindset is devious. 

I get things done. I get things done that other people need. But I am really, really good at postponing things that matter(-ish) to me. I have a poetry manuscript that has notes all over it, but I have not yet begun the book review that is part opinion as reader and part analysis and critique. I guess my prose-muse is napping. 

Like, Aurora napping.

I will get it done, but the folder with the marked pages is staring at me, a wordy reproach. 

Telling myself that I need to read it through again with "fresh eyes" has been my excuse, and it's pretty valid, but yet I keep erasing the "must-do" off the white board, and moving it from day to day, week to week, in my desk planner. I swear, I've spent more time writing and erasing the reminder than I have working on the essay I have been asked to write.

This week. I'll finish it this week. At least get the essay drafted. 

There. Accountability. I've told you, so now I have to do it. 

Hold me to it!

C