Behind the Ironic Column

There are still a few boxes/stacks of books scattered around the apartment, left over from that clearing and sorting binge I went through last winter when I was clearing out the storage room. The reason I’m noticing them now, of course, is that I’m trying to make my living area moderately presentable – which may only mean getting the stacks of books neatly lined up against the walls instead of teetering in different spaces around the room. The reason they’re in these stacks is that they’re in different stages of transition.

There are the ones I’ve firmly decided to give up, but don’t yet know the lucky recipient. Then there are ones that I’m of two minds about – perhaps I should keep them, but if I do, where shall I put them. Then there are the ones that I’m passing on as soon as I’ve read them – no need to find shelf space for them because they’re not staying. Which means some have been sitting in the floor for a number of months now. Waiting for me to either have time or be in the mood to read that particular style of book. Or sometimes that weight of book – if I need one to carry around I’m not taking one that’s several inches thick and weighs a lot. On the other hand I’m not a big fan of publicly reading things with lurid covers – I like to keep those things at home. I know that comes from growing up in a small community where too many people felt entitled to notice and comment on anything one might be doing. It saved trouble all round if I didn’t carry out books that would cause a fuss. Rather like keeping “The Lord of the Flies” hidden behind my history book while reading it in class.  So anyway, those are waiting.

And then there’s another whole batch of things that I couldn’t come to any  preliminary decision on, so they’re in a box together. That’s where the entertaining juxtapositions come in. I usually keep my books arranged by some definite system, even if it is one known only to me. I’m a former librarian and some of those tendencies just don’t go away. But I’ve made little to no effort to categorize the stacks of waiting materials or this box of assortments. That leaves them open to happy or hilarious serendipity.

For instance, I found a copy of a pamphlet called “Seductive Sesame Oil” wedged in next to a copy of Anais Nin’s “Little Birds.” I’m really sure they were never shelved together so those two have found each other. Maybe there’s some force like gravity that draws them together. And then there’s the “Primer on Freudian Psychology “ – which I have from my psychology-major days. But right next to it is Erskine Caldwell’s “Tobacco Road.” Maybe there’s a theme here, one volume is a comment on some aspect of the other volume. That would be a system of sorts, although one hard to explain to casual browsers.

As I was busily restacking the unread magazine pile the other day, I realized I was engaging in active procrastination, rather than my usual passive style.  I’m not actually reading the material I have lined up to read, but I’m doing something which is in itself useful — i.e. straightening up the jumble of new mail that’s piled up in the basket waiting for me to notice it.  Most often my procrastination takes the form of just walking by or away from whatever the thing is that I’m trying to avoid.  That’s what I’m referring to as passive procrastination — the task is there to be done but I’m just ignoring it. 

This used to work fairly well with my inbox at work. People would send me documents or journal articles or other forms of paper that stacked up in my inbox.  I could find them easily enough if need be, but mostly there was no reason to — they sat there for a while and then I eventually cleared them out.  Except for the ones that I felt compelled to file away somewhere — but that’s a completely different form of madness.

I work well against a deadline — for instance I get more cleaning and housework done in the week leading up to a trip than I do on any normal basis.  I don’t like to come back to a place that looks bombed out so it’s important to me to straighten up before I go away.  (Why this logic doesn’t apply on a daily basis I don’t know, but it doesn’t)  Anyway, I rush around busily before a trip getting things straightened away.  The only drawback is that if I’m not going on any trips, my household clutter just seems to keep increasing. 

But every so often I can trick myself into an artificial deadline — I have to be at “x” in 30 minutes so I’ll just do what I can do in that limited amount of time.  Not enough time to write an essay but likely enough to do a couple of Twitter entries.  And not enough time to do laundry but enough to put away the dried dishes.  I’m unfailingly surprised at how much I can actually accomplish in those small segments of time.  Of course I’m still not getting to the “bigger” things that are on my list — but this kind of active procrastination at least gets a few things done and leaves me feeling like I’ve accomplished something.