mrs. robinson

This picture has absolutely nothing to do with this post but look at that big giant fish I caught!

When I was student teaching, I had a student who was incredibly intelligent but incredibly lazy.  He was a ninth grader after all.  He would arrive to my Geography class prepared with all the answers and then some but with no homework completed.

Maybe his dog ate it?

Anyway, the student was just very gifted.  He spent the entire semester attempting to do the minimal amount of effort required for an A.  He had learned, I'm sure, through an educational career of advanced level classes that he did not have to do everything to excel.  He could coast by without crossing every jot and dotting every tittle.

This worked well for him until the end of the semester in my class.  He had a ninety one percent.  A mere week away from the semester's end, he realized that he had an A-.  An A- is an excellent goal for nearly every student but, to him, it would be a black eye instead of a gold star.

So he did what every high school student assumes will work, he pestered me every day before and after school.  He begged and pleaded and finally, he cried.  And I just couldn't take it any more.  There is something in my neurotic and procrastinating personality that extended empathy towards this student and his plight.

So I cooked the books for everyone.  I offered a last minute extra credit opportunity to the entire class.  It was an onerous and annoying task.  It teetered on the balance between educationally beneficial and didactically irritating.  Only a few students completed the assignment but this student had an A.

On the last day of the semester, during a teacher work day, I noticed an email in my school account from the student thanking me for my academic assistance with a line from Simon and Garfunkel at the end.

"Here's to you, Mrs. Robinson."

My name is Robertson but whatever.  The reference to 1960's rock was refreshing in a classroom where the students stared blankly back at me when I had mentioned the TV show Recess.

(Coincidentally, Robertson is a difficult name for high school students to remember.  I heard all sorts of versions of my name including, but not limited to: Robinson, Robert, Roberts, Robins, and my favorite, Robitussin.)

Here's the point to my long and seemingly random story: I am a procrastinator.  I understood the problem.  He just kept putting it off and shuffling papers around and somehow disconnecting from the reality of the situation until it was almost too late.  I get it.  I procrastinate everything.  Because, you see, there is always tomorrow and tomorrow, I will be a better version of myself.  I haven't thought through how but I just know that tomorrow I will wake up craving carrot sticks and water instead of chocolate cake and Dr. Pepper.

A procrastinator's favorite word is later.   There is just always more time later.  Time to finish that pesky little task, time to mop the floors, time to exercise, time to lose weight.  But here's the problem.  Later never arrives.  Tomorrow is always a day away and the sun never rises on today.  Thousands of laters later and I am still overweight and miserable.

I'm still miserable.  A series of vacations and "staycations" and birthdays and date nights have set me off track and I have spent nearly a month waiting for later to start things up again.  I'm miserable because, while tomorrow is still in the future, today is right here and I'm sitting in it.  I'm fat today and that is the problem.  How good is the promise of a bright and beautiful tomorrow if I'm fat, tired, and miserable today?

This evening Dave and I took Katelyn for a walk around our apartment complex and I was just so moody and irritated and miserable.  I went through the list of usual scapegoats I try to pin the blame on.  Our apartment is too hot.  I couldn't find my grey leggings this morning.  We ran out of hummus.  The tag on my shirt is itchy.  I'm in the middle of a particularly unattractive break out.  There were people grilling super stinky food a few units away.

Before you point out that several of those issues are my own doing (too disorganized to find my grey leggings, greasy fatty food acne, not grocery shopping a single time over the past week, etc.), let me just say that I already know.  Procrastinators are really good at warping reality to fit our own needs.  I'm miserable because I've dropped the reigns of control in my life and I've stopped doing the things that make me truly happy.  I know.

So I gave myself a pep talk and said, "Good thing tomorrow is Monday.  What a great day to start.  I'll start tomorrow.  Tomorrow is going to be really really great."

And then I inwardly chuckled at the irony of it all as I caught my procrastinating habits creeping back up on me.  Day one starts right now.  I went back home and cleaned my apartment, tackled laundry mountain, and drank a glass of water instead of eating through the rest of the pantry.

Tomorrow starts today.