Procrastination

It appears that I procrastinate even in my sleep.  The only mornings that I really must wake up early are Tuesdays, so those are the days I wake up at six and have to make a mad dash to get the trash down to the big road.  Trash Guy and I met at the corner at the same time this morning.  An early memory is the sound of my father jingling coins in his pocket as a sign of his frustration because I was dragging my feet again.  At boarding school, I sat on the floor in the bathroom with a portable typewriter (the neolithic version of a laptop) on my lap, writing a term paper the night before it was due.  I finally got the tax packet in the mail to my CPA yesterday.  Even then, I missed a window of time.  The post office in River Pines closed some time ago; the portable building that housed it is completely gone.  The post office in Somerset now has just one employee and the entire office is closed for an hour for lunch!  I had other business in town, so rather than wait the half-hour until it reopened, I went on down to Diamond Springs and dropped off my mail there.

Leaving home at this time of year is made easier by the scenery on the drive.  Just because we don't fight freeway traffic doesn't mean we can zone out behind the wheel, however.  We have our own version of road hazards, including the multitudinous potholes and frost heaves in the pavement (where there's pavement).  A doe crossed in front of me.  Where there is one deer, there are liable to be others.  A pedestrian turkey dithered at the side of the road, made a hard left and dashed in front of the truck.  Missed him.  A little more winding and up-and-down hilly, the roads in this direction are just as lovely as the drive the other day down to Martell.  Another storm is predicted to hit tonight.  I kept an eye out for dogwoods in bloom, our forecasters for one more snow.  There are peaches and plums and other blossoming trees along the way, but nary a flowering dogwood.  Drat.  Even the trees are procrastinating.