Sometimes we put off things, kidding ourselves that they won’t be so bad when we do them later. HAH!

I’m not sure how we fool ourselves into these utter interplanetary flights of fancy. Maybe it’s that our distaste for a task is so extreme that it gives us the delusion-fuel we need to con ourselves that the unfolded laundry won’t be an unwearably wrinkled mountain of fabric, or the dishes won’t be encrusted with stubbornly glued-on food, or that a last-minute grocery shopping trip on Sunday won’t be a last-3-hour shopping trip.

When you pull into the grocery store parking lot on a Sunday, you know you’ve found your people. All of them. All of the poor, stupid souls who put it off until the end of the weekend. It’s like being at a lame party no one want to be at, so we exchange “kill me know” sighs with our fellow procrastinators in line and suffer together the consequences of our own poor planning.

Hey, misery loves company, right?

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