The Art/Science of Procrastination

(We'll figure out the title later)

It’s no secret that everyone procrastinates at some point. You might even be doing it now. How do you know what you’re doing is procrastination instead of actual work? Consider the following:

1.      Is the task you are avoiding something that really needs to be done? How much are you dreading it?

According to Procrastini’s Law, the need of the task times the perceived length of time it will take, factoring in the exponential dread of doing said task equals how long you will put it off. If you are following Procastini’s Law, you have now figured out your approximate delay on completing the task. The formula appears below.

N x pT^x =D

2.      What lesser, non-threatening tasks have you also been delaying?

With Procastini’s Law factored in to your decision making, you are now scanning your immediate area for any other task to complete. Such things include cleaning your room, justifying doing your laundry because you can do other things while you wait for the washer/dryer to finish. Once you have evaluated your immediate surroundings, you then move on to your dwelling space. When was the last time you vacuumed? When was the last time you took out the trash? When was the last time you deep-cleaned the bathroom? At this point, you will now engage in all of these things because they really should be done, and now’s a good time as any to finally move the laundry pile off the bed and into the hamper where it belongs. Increase dread exponent by one.

3.      Have you rewarded yourself for completing the other tasks?

At this point, you will realize that you’ve gotten a lot of stuff done. Good for you! This is the perfect time to get sucked into a YouTube vortex, catching up and discovering new shows you want to watch; or, since you’re feeling a bit peckish, now’s the time to invade the fridge and prepare yourself the best meal you can, because you deserve it. Go ahead and light some candles and treat yourself to a romantic dinner for one. Add one to the need

4.      When was the last time you checked the clock?

If you haven’t already, check the clock to see how much you’ve accomplished in such short a time. Enjoy that feeling of pride that you’ve done so much and-

            Is that really the time?

By now, the pride of accomplishing so much is diminished because of how little time you have left to complete N. Your formula should appear as follows.

N x pT^x + P! = D

(The P! stands for Panic Level)

5.      What else can be done?

As the hours slowly turn from single digits to double, you must consign yourself to the fact that nothing else remains for you to do. The Need no longer has any other, less threatening task before it, which means it must be done.

But wait! There are things, mandatory things, things that provide valid excuses for further delaying the Need! You may now take a shower, put on comfortable clothes, and wait until Late Night with Jimmy Fallon is over because you really need to unwind from doing everything else but the Need.

6.      Panic is your…friend?

If your double digit hours are slowly inching towards single digits again, P! should now surpass N x pT^x and you can no longer delay the Need. It is time to buckle down and do it!

Before long, the Need will be complete, and you will be able to crawl into bed, victorious, that you, yes you, have done so much, and all without that pesky need of sleep!

Is that your alarm clock going off in the background?

…You may want to plan a nap later today.

7.      Has the cycle started anew?

By now, you are swearing to never, ever procrastinate anything again. You have learned your lesson and will no longer need Procrastini’s Law in your life. You are a changed person, you are smarter, wiser, and certainly not a procrastinator.

Did you go get the laundry out of the washer? How badly do you need the things from the washer in your wardrobe?

See Procrastini’s Law for how long you can make it without the towels and socks.

Mining for Words

Alone, I let the cup warm my fingers, remembering when I would drink hot cocoa before school in the dark morning hours.

I take a sip, waiting for the words to come, tapping the mug with fingers that should be typing. But they’re not. Like the essays I struggled so much with during finals week, the words have fled, leaving me with nothing but half-formed ideas that won’t go anywhere. I do not need the ideas; I have so many I wonder if I’ll ever get to all of them. What I need are the words, the words to make those ideas come alive.

Frustrated, I go to introspection, trying to sort out which feelings I can hold onto to help give me the motivation I need. I’m not tired or hungry, the usual culprits for procrastination. I’ve turned off the TV, doing my best to rid myself of distractions so I can work.

The faint glimmer of an idea glows against the blankness of my mood, flickering like an ember going out. If I don’t hurry to it, it will be gone, and I’ll be trying to light up an idea from nothing, hauling words out of the darkness, words that will only sputter and spark, not blaze the way I want them to.

But the words retreat further away from me, giggling in the darkness, thrilled at their game of hide and seek. Even with a match of a new idea, it doesn’t take long before the light flickers out, a few of the words accepting their defeat and coming with me. The rest evade me.

Are they enough? Are the words that have come to me enough to make my idea with? We may only need seven colors to make the rest, but words…words are not the same. Use a word too many times and it fades into the background, boring, bland, unimaginative. Use the word that doesn’t belong there and it stands out like a smear, a streak, an unfortunate stroke on the canvas that cannot be undone.

They will have to do, the words I’ve found. And together, in the quiet, we build around the idea, burning brighter and hotter as we do. More words rush out of their nooks, holding their hands up to the warmth, yearning now to be included instead of forgotten.

After this, I return from my little adventure, sitting upright, putting the mug down, and I begin to write.

5 Years Ago: A Letter to Myself

Five years ago, during my last few days in high school, my English teacher had us write letters to ourselves. In five years, they would be sent to us and we'd be able to read them. Mine arrived recently, and I have to shake my head at eighteen-year-old me. She was trying to sound wise when she didn't have a scrap of wisdom. She wrote about things that once were important to me, but have since become treasured memories that I look back on fondly. The thing that gave me the most insight was my bucket list.

I'd forgotten there were so many things I wanted to do with my life, things that could be easily accomplished if I tried hard enough. Things I'd forgotten I wanted for myself.

But then I noticed something.

As I was thinking about what I'd written, it dawned on me how scared I actually was at eighteen. My first paragraph is all about not forgetting the people I hung out with at the time (and I'm still hanging out with them. No fear, past me!). It hit me hard: I was desperate for acceptance.

And then I realized the truth written between the lines of my vague attempts at sounding wise: I was terrified of the future. I had no idea what was going to happen next, and I had no idea what my life was going to be. I wanted some security as I moved on, and the only thing I could think to hold onto was my friends.

Looking back, it all makes perfect sense. I'd never given much thought to the future (still don't), and to think of myself in five years...to think of how much I could change and how much my friends would change. And, of course, there was the ever present fact that my mom was going to die at some point, and I would have no idea when that would happen or what that would even entail.

At eighteen, I was faking to be brave. I'd been doing it since I was fifteen, so it made sense to continue the charade as long as I could. But the fear's there, hiding behind the words and lurking in the blank spaces on the page. The fear that clearly reads: I am scared, and I'm tired of being brave. I'm scared of what the future will hold, and I'm scared I'm going to lose the only people who've been accepting me. And that fear shortchanged what I wanted for myself. The only clear thing I want in the future was on the bucket list. My actual letter contained no clear answers, and that's because I didn't have a clear vision of my future. And that scared me.

So, there's only one thing to do: write a letter back.

Dear me,

You can stop pretending everything is fine. I know your true feelings. You're sick and tired of being brave and putting on a brave face so no one will think anything's wrong with you. First off, nothing is wrong with you. Secondly, it's okay to be afraid.

The future's a scary place because we're constantly moving toward it, but we're never going to see it according to our expectations. Take a deep breath. You're okay. The future's actually not so bad.

You're scared because you don't know. You've always had school and family to provide you structure, and now that's going to change. It's not easy. But it's exciting because it's new. And you're going to enjoy it.

Now, onto some business.

You are always going to be a nerd. Your family is nerdy, your friends are kind of nerdy, so that's not going away anytime soon. Embrace it and love it because it makes life way more fun.

Your friends aren't going to drop and leave you. They love you for who you are. Trust them more.

Learn to know when a relationship isn't going to work out. You may like a person a lot. But if they're not reciprocating your actions to care about them, or if they're just downright nasty and rude and you can't stand it, don't hang around. You seeing the good in people is a wonderful quality. Don't ever give that up. But you don't need to be around people who aren't good for you. They just drag you down and it's not real friendship. They can still be good people and not be your friends.

Be who you are. Without apology. Own the fact you want to be an author. Don't be wishy-washy about it. You've know that's what you want to do since you were thirteen. OWN IT. It doesn't matter if people give you weird looks or think you're weird. This is what you are meant to do. It's a part of your soul.

Don't be afraid of getting a job. Yeah, speaking as your future self, this is something you gotta get over. Jobs may require work, yes, but they give you money...which allows you to get freedom or to buy things. Right now, it's going to be a kind of narrow field of vision for you, but expand your horizons a little. You can still be an author, you just need to have a job to bring in money in the meantime. It's not a bad thing to want money.

Don't be afraid of failure/getting into trouble. It happens sometimes. Sure, you can avoid both all your life, but how fulfilling is that going to be? Yes, it's important to avoid bad consequences. But it's also important to take risks to get to a greater reward.

Don't wait around for a man to make you happy. As your future, unmarried self, I'm here to tell you something important: marriage is hard. Motherhood is hard. And honestly, I think you want it because you think you're supposed to want it. And yes, deep down, you do want it for yourself, but don't let that be the thing that's going to give you the ultimate happiness. You're still going to be with yourself, with or without a husband, so the person you've really got to accept is yourself. And that's hard, too.

Say yes to the things you really want in life. Don't deny yourself happiness just because of a financial cost or a time cost. There's a time and place to be prudent, but there's also a time and place to give yourself something nice...because you deserve it.

It can seem like a lot, and it can seem overwhelming, but you can do it. I know because I'm you, and I got through it just fine. I may have gotten a few bumps and bruises, but it hasn't killed me yet.

You've done well to be brave for so long. But you can admit that you're scared with me. Let's go build a pillow and blanket for and be scared of the future together.

And when we're ready, we'll head out and face it.

Lots of love to you,

Janessa.

P.S. The bucket list is awesome. High five through time and space!

Saying Goodbye: The Upstairs

I think I need to make this because it's therapeutic and a healthy way to say goodbye to my house. So here we go.

I remember when we got the white carpet installed. It smelled so new, and fresh, and it felt so soft. And then it became a part of my past.

My upstairs was my playground paradise for my imagination. Each room represented a different place, whether it be a log cabin or the central town, my farm that I tilled using a frame of a paint roller, or the passageway under the well that was blocking off a much needed water supply. I could go anywhere I wanted to, and all the rooms played a part.

I remember my brothers' room, the biggest one in the house, with its blue carpet and double window seats. I'd always try to brave it through the tunnel to the other side, but my courage always failed me until another day. So i'd hop into it and drive my imaginary car instead.

Losing that was hard.

My own room, with its bunny wallpaper that my sister put up and all these things that celebrated that I was here and existed, now has bare walls. I never knew how small it was until I approached it one day, carpet and wallpaper gone. How had I not seen how cramped I had been? I simply never needed the space until now.

My sister's room, with its thick green carpet became my playroom. Her brass bed was a magical thing, one that required I climb up it just to get on. There were two bunnies that sat in little wicker chairs next to a wicker table. I suddenly miss them now.

Now that the renovations are done upstairs... I feel lost whenever I go up there. The magic, the feel, the happiness...it's all gone. Nothing hints at the happy childhood I had there. All I have are memories, and nothing to back them up.

That hurts.

Because I want to share these memories with the people I love. I want to be able to take them by the hand and show them my past, show them everything that made me who I am.

But all I have are memories.

In a way, maybe it's better like that. Memories can't be hurt or undone or changed. They stay constant. So maybe the childhood isn't gone. It's just living somewhere else where I can't ever lose it.

My First Convention: A Bundle of Emotions

*blows dust off of blog*

Okay, we're back. For the past three days, I was at FanX, what I like to call a mini-comic convention. As it was my first one, I had no idea what to expect...but I was excited.

Sometime ago, probably when I first began watching YouTube videos, I was introduced to the world of conventions and cosplay. At first, I thought it was weird. People lining up for hours to see a famous person? People wearing costumes of various characters? Shouldn't that have been reserved for Halloween?

But as time went on, I learned more about both conventions and cosplay. Some people were really good at it, taking months, maybe even years to perfect it so they looked as close to the characters as possible. Conventions were giant nerd gatherings, but it looked like fun to be around like-minded people. Soon, I wanted to go as well.

But I lacked any money to go to any con remotely near me. As I was in my teens, I had no job, no income, and no way to make cosplay or even pay for a convention.

Then Salt Lake Comic Con came into being. The dream of going became a whole lot easier because it was twenty minutes away. I couldn't believe it. All I lacked now...was the desire to go. I was in college, and money was tight, and stuff like a convention cost more money than I felt I could spare.

So fast forward to when I bought my tickets for half off (Score Black Friday), and I waited until January 29. At long last. My first convention was finally here. And luckily, I was going with friends who were equally nerdy as me.

The only thing that could top the moment when I walked onto the floor for the first time would be me entering Disneyland. It was huge. There were comic pictures, nerdy merchandise up and down every aisle, and I don't think I saw all of it. But it was amazing. If you were a fan of it, there probably was merchandise for you to buy.

The thing that I loved most though, was the feeling that it was okay for me to be as nerdy and fangirly as I wanted to be. So often, I have to kind of keep that part of myself kept under wraps. Here at Comic Con...I was free to embrace that part of myself. I wish I had another day just to sit around and watch all the interactions between people. I became braver, more willing to speak to strangers, and chat with them. It felt good to be social with people who loved the same things I loved. Or at least respected that I loved it.

And already, I'm missing it. That feeling of being able to walk around a corner and see someone from one of my favorite shows or video games standing right there. The feeling of solidarity that you're not the only huge nerd in the building. The feeling that it is okay for me to stare and oggle and marvel at what people have created for people like me.

In short, it was awesome, and I wish I had a Time Turner to go back and relive those three days over and over again.

The Thing You Don't Think About

It's like seeing the pile of laundry and forgetting to do it until you see it again. It's that soapy pan in the sink you swear you'll clean eventually. It's the thing lurking at the back of your brain, something you know is coming, but you don't want to think about it, until it finally arrives when you least expect it.

I lost my Grandma today.

Ever since I was little, somewhere, in the back of my mind, I knew she would eventually pass away. I heard stories of friends my age, talking about how their grandparents died, how they don't have their grandparents anymore. I always knew that I would lose my grandma; my grandpa died twelve years before I was born.

But, as a child, you know that day is far in the future. It'll come later, when you're older and an adult, probably married even. You know as you look at the wrinkles getting deeper, the hair getting whiter when Grandma doesn't get around to dyeing it, that it's coming. That no one lives forever.

But to a child, anything above twenty is forever.

So forever finally came today. Towards the end of April, I receive a call from my brother, telling me that my grandma is in the hospital. I immediately chastised him for starting the conversation like that and not telling me why my grandmother is in the hospital: she's having some serious pain and is undergoing some minor surgery to help make it better.

In May, I visit my grandma at the home where she's recovering. A part of me senses that this is her future. My mind races to her house, nestled on the hill on the corner, the arched driveway a pair of welcoming arms. How it's not her house anymore. How another family, one that doesn't know about the woman who spent twenty-one years having Christmas, Thanksgiving, Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, and a general Sunday afternoon that stretched into Sunday night there.

I don't think she wants to give that up, and i'm right. She moves back home, and everything is as usual.

Last Sunday, we prepared dinner at Grandma's. I've had many dinners there before. Meat Loaf, just like my Mom made it, except covered in nasty tomato paste, her meat pies that I could die for, (pun not intended!), zuncinni with butter and cheese melted on top, her famous creamed potatoes that I could eat the entire tray-ful and still not be sick of it. Yet Grandma ate sluggishly, barely eating anything. I knew my Grandma was a good eater, she always had been; it was a value she insisted her grandchildren on having. I attributed her lack of appetite to her pain that she was in.

Then, yesterday, my aunts found my grandma in a very bad state. She was delirious and couldn't get up. I assume that she's just going in for a few days, then coming out and going back home with some new pain medications and a stricter regiment that she will hopefully decide to follow this time.

Today I get a text from my sister. "Call me when you can. It's about grandma." I know this can't be good news. An update on her condition would have come straight from my dad. it would have been at least four parts long, with a basic summary of how she was doing. If it can't be told in a text, it can't be anything good. My sister says that Grandma is on her deathbed.

This is when I get confused. My grandma is a fighter, a stubborn woman who does everything her way, and gets her way as often as she can. To hear that she has suddenly declined so rapidly, I almost can't believe it.

Almost.

It happened with my Mom. One day fine, the next day not.

I shower as quickly as possible and hurry over to my sister's house so we can carpool to the hospital to see her. On our way into the hospital, we find my cousins and aunt and uncle sitting outside. Grandma had gone in for a test, but she was very responsive, they told us. We get a text from my cousin to come inside. The test must be over.

We reach the third floor where she's supposed to be. That's when we see my cousin coming down the hall, alone, and looking very serious, a sharp contrast from the funny, sarcastic, outspoken cousin I know.

"Grandma had a code blue."

I don't know what that means, but anything with the word Code in it can't be good. Hands fly to mouths, the tears start. The end is near. The little nagging thought in the back of my brain is now fully realized. Old Age has come.

Grandma Della is dying.

We gather outside the room where she had her code blue. They talk for a good twenty minutes about drugs and the options we have. There are few dry eyes. More cousins come. We decide to leave and go to the cafeteria so my grandmother's direct children make the next decision. Before we leave, they wheel her out to go back upstairs.

I want to say something, anything, but the realization that she's dying, no matter what we do, chokes my words. I see her face. She 's pale and gaunt. Just like my Mom was. I know Grandma won't make it more than a couple of hours.

We're in the cafeteria, reminiscing, thinking we'll have a chance to say goodbye, thinking that it's going to be a couple hours or so before we have any news.

My uncle comes and tells us that they're going to try to find a way to reduce the clots that are plaguing my grandmother's veins. My dad comes in and ushers him out. I sense something has happened, or perhaps they need him for something.

A few minutes later, my brother-in-law, a pharmacist at another hospital comes down. We look up in greeting when I hear him whisper to my sister, "Your grandma's passed," as if he himself doesn't want to believe it's true.

He repeats himself, a little louder now, and, en-mass, we leave the cafeteria and head to the floor where Grandma's body is now. We hug each other, crying. There, on the hospital bed, is my grandma. The grandma who always called me "Darlin'" The grandma who insisted I act like a lady at all times. If her chest would just move, it would look like she had fallen asleep with her mouth open. But the color is gone from her face, and she just looks wrong.

The one thing I hate about grief is the roller coaster ride it puts you on. You can be just fine one second, and a sobbing mess the next. I've been joking and laughing, drying my eyes and feeling like it's any other family gathering, and then I remember why we're here.

I decide, in the moments as I'm hugging my cousins, that we are not letting the death of grandma keep us apart. We are going to keep her alive in us and in the traditions. it may not be at the same house, but it will be the same traditions.

Then the most natural thing of all occurs, everyone decides to go to grandma's house. Not all at once, though. My dad, brother and I head to my sister's house for dinner. We talk about how surprising it is to know my grandma is dead, but she's with her husband, my grandpa I never knew, my mom, and her sisters. But most importantly, she's no longer in pain. She's no longer in a body that's hunched her over and caused her constant pain.

At my grandma's house, everything is as it should be. We're all together, everything is as it was before grandma died, it seems normal.

But it's not. we have to go through all the things now. All the clothes and furniture and the many, many pieces of fabric that my grandma used to quilt with. But my cousins and I are looking at the toys, searching for an old train of ducks that everyone remembers, but is in terrible condition; holding up the marble machine, claiming that each grandchild should put a marble down the wooden box because everyone remembers playing with it. We talk about the things we want to take with us, things that have value to us.

It's hard to think that Grandma's house will soon be someone else's. That another family will move into there and claim the rooms for their own. But there's still time...but not long.

Unlike the pile of laundry or the dirty pan in the sink, this one is a leaky faucet, a clogged toilet, something that requires immediate attention.

Grandma, I love you, and I will miss you. I'm happy though, you're no longer in pain.

Update

Hey, everyone! Just letting you all know I'm doing a lot better since my last blog post. I feel it's only safe to tell you I wrote that months ago as I thought about my past, and only after a while did I gain the courage to even post something like that. It wasn't easy, but I'm glad I did it.

To use a rather gross metaphor, it's like throwing up. Now, I hate this with a passion. But now that it's out...I feel better. I do feel a little weak and achey, and a little embarrassed that you had to see that side of me. But being honest is something I need to do more of. Especially with my feelings.

On a very happy note, I met Lindsey Stirling (AHGHAGHAGHAHGASOAWESOME!) last week, and that was very much a life changing experience. Watching her play live filled me with a desire to do everything with the same passion that she does. And I'm excited to start actually doing what I want to do and ignoring that stupid voice in the back of my head that's been telling me, "No, no don't do this. No one will care." Sorry, nagging doubts, you're getting shown the door.

What am I working on? Well...I don't know if I'm quite ready to admit that just yet...When I get there, you'll all know. I'll probably start posting photos of my work in progress. We'll see. Just keep supporting me, guys. Just because I'm happy doesn't mean I no longer need support. I always need support; everyone does. It's what makes the difference between failure and success. So, keep cheering me on, and I'll keep doing great.

Let a new adventure begin...