The Procrastinating Perfectionist

My first memory of certifiable procrastination dates back to 5th grade. That was about 20 years ago. I had to do a report on Galileo, and make a poster of what I had learned. I remember very little about the assignment. What I remember is that I waited until literally the night before it was due, and I had probably had a month to work on it. I cried and cried, and stayed up late into the night working on the poster board. Apparently my parents remember this incident too- nothing about the experience was pleasurable for them, and I am very thankful in retrospect that they chose not to bail me out, but allowed me to suffer the consequences and figure out a solution on my own,

This trend continued into high school and college- I remember writing essays for my freshman year English class, and falling asleep one night with my head resting on the bookshelf that was right next to the computer in the family room. One night Amber Casali and I drank a pot of coffee while trying to finish the outline for a history day project on Gandhi that would eventually win us 5th in state in the creative performance category.

In college I usually wrote my papers the day before they were due- there were many long nights and early mornings in the computer lab, and one project that was completed half asleep in the hallway of my freshman dorm at three in the morning. And the classic political science mid-term fiasco, in which I woke up halfway through the test, ripped an old essay out of my roommate Betsy's blue book so I could use the rest of it, and ran into the lecture hall with pajama pants and crazy ass hair, looking like some kind of subway monster. Thanks again to my good friend Caitlin, who had been about to leave class in order to go call me and wake me up.

These stories make me sound like a bit of a flake when it came to school work, but the truth is that I pulled good grades, even when I was pulling papers out of my ass. To be fair, there were several math and science classes I came close to failing over the years, but that's a different blog post.

This way of being worked for me- I created solid work under pressure, thought about what I had to say for a long time, then cranked it out right before it was due. I absolutely did myself a disservice, too, by always turning in my first attempt, and being unwilling to have the patience to revise my work or face any serious criticism.

This is an epidemic among perfectionists, and I've spent the day procrastinating on the things I need to do, and thinking about why.

When you don't want to fuck up, make any mistakes, or, god forbid, disappoint someone, it's easier to do something at the last minute that put all of your effort into it. There is some juicy material in here about fear, and the unknown, and perhaps the great mystery that awaits us in death, but I may need more therapy before I can clearly articulate all this.  What I know is that I even though I understand that perfection is a foolish and unhealthy goal, I still do my best my attain it.  For me that meant getting good grades on papers I wrote the night before they were due, or spending lots of time daydreaming about my goals instead of starting the long, arduous, unpredictable journey toward achieving them.

I think with perfectionism there is a lot of "owning it." For instance, feeling that if your dog shits on your roommates pillow, that is somehow a reflection on your character.  Or if you don't get a job, or have a date that goes poorly, that it somehow means you are unworthy of success or love.

So procrastination tempers this- it gives us a little space, a buffer between our real experiences and the feeling that we are going to choose the wrong path or let ourselves or someone else down.

Procrastination and perfectionism are like the Laurel and Hardy of personal issues- they were made for each other.

I have been thinking about applying for a new job, but I haven't done anything about it yet. I am overwhelmed by the idea of looking, facing rejection, and knowing that a change of routine is inevitable. Today I ate chocolate whiskey cake that Steven made, went running with Guthrie, did yard work, washed the covers on the couch cushions, and fixed the handle of a frying pan before I actually sat down to look at my resumes.

All day I felt like Paul Rudd in Wet Hot American Summer, when he throws his tray on the floor after breakfast, and Janeane Garofalo makes him pick it up.  I hemmed and hawed and whined and threw my arms around like a baboon, but I finally, grumpily, opened up my computer and sat down to work.

I feel better now that I've taken the first tiny step towards progress. I feel better now that I stopped thinking about writing something, and actually WROTE IT.  Tomorrow I am going to do more yard work, paint my toenails, write some letters, and make some soup.  Then, if I get around to it, I'll start working on some cover letters. Wish me luck- and may the force be with you.