Is procrastination innate, or is it learned behavior?

Yesterday, I started my summer reading assignment. I am starting graduate school at UCONN this summer - a very intense schedule, much to read and absorb before I go. Up until yesterday, I had legitimate reasons to postpone reading. You know, my job, thank you notes to students, shopping for college essentials. But, yesterday was the day I had committed to for beginning my assignment. 


After the first hour, my mind began to wander. I kept pulling myself back, but I also started to wonder if my keen ability to procrastinate was something I was born with, or something I had learned. I put off thinking about it until this morning. I decided to do a quick google search to learn more about procrastination. 


According to my brief research, it seems that scientists and philosophers have been debating the question for generations. A life coach in New York thinks that procrastination stems from extreme anxiety and a lack of confidence in one's abilities. I say,"poo!" I am extremely confident in my ability to read, take notes, digest what I've read, and develop probing questions about the material. I am equally confident in my ability to procrastinate.


I am an "in your face" blatant procrastinator. Petulant, in some cases. My mom, on the other hand, is a sneaky procrastinator. A piddler, a wanderer. A sampler of multiple activities. She has mastered this technique whereby she begins a task in one room of the house, pauses after a few minutes, effusing good intentions, and focuses on the absolutely necessary adjacent task that will take her to another room. Once there, she becomes temporarily engrossed in completing something that seems essential to the well-being of our household. She can keep up this meandering trek until she has ventured into all rooms, leaving an imaginary snail trail of semi-complete good works. She may or may not return to her initial task, but something has been accomplished.


I've noticed that she tells a story in much the same way. It begins, "Let me tell you what happened today. I had every intention of finishing my project before I took the dogs for a walk. Oh, did you know there are new neighbors on the next street over? We saw them, and also that little boy down the street loves Freddie (one of our dogs), and he's so good with him (Freddie with the boy, or the boy with Freddie?). There were some trucks outside. Anyway, before we went for our walk, the phone rang. I was getting dressed. Do you know where my red shirt is? I wore it last Thursday, but I can't find it."


You get the idea. Eventually, with some prompting, I will find out that Mom couldn't finish her project because she spent an hour on the phone with a friend who needed a good listener. Listening to Mom getting to the point, like watching her process in finishing a task can be time-consuming, but it's worth the long, amusing meandering journey.


Now, enough procrastination. I have some reading to do.

Go ahead and blog. All the cool kids are doing it!

Do you remember in Gypsy, how whenever Rose wants to change the act she says she "had a dream"? Too young for Gypsy? O.K., remember on Glee, the song that Kirk sang - "I had a dream. I dreamed it for you, Dad." - well same thing. Last night I had a dream about writing a blog. Maybe I felt like my act needed changing. Maybe it was so that I would act on what my brother and I have often said about needing to capture the essence of our mom in writing, or maybe it was a procrastination ploy. I have an ENORMOUS summer reading assignment. But that's another story.


Either way, when I woke up this a.m., I was convinced that I should write about life with my mom. We have been roomies for almost 8 years, now. When this all began, it was a means to an end. I had invested (badly) in my own business. Ended up selling my house, cashing out the 401K, starting a new and improved career. All the while, I assumed that living with Mom (Dad passed away in 2000) was a temporary fix, and yet......


I lamented to a friend at the time that the widow (mom) and the spinster (that's me) moving in together was like recreating an episode of The Golden Girls. My friend reassured me that we were much more like the Gilmore Girls, and I so wanted to believe him. I thought it was because he thought Janelle (mom) and I were so hip, so cool, so with it. Might've been based on maturity, though. 


Fast forward to, well, now, and I'm wondering if we've passed the Gilmores, the Goldens, and are now on our way to Grey Gardens. If so, and if there is a documentary in all of this, I might as well blog. I can't make any promises about whether anyone else will be as entertained by our stories as we are, but here is a teaser. 


Yesterday, while watching an 80's movie marathon (first runs for Janelle), she looked up from an angst-ridden Emilio Estevez and asked me if the singer, Gloria Estevez from the Miami Sound Machine, was Emilio and Charlie's mom. Bah-dum-bum!


For the record, my mom is incredibly hip for 75. She's the coolest and the kindest. And, she HAS seen the entire DVD set of Gilmore Girls, and both the Grey Gardens documentary, and the Drew Barrymore version. So here goes an attempt to figure out where we fall within that spectrum. Hope you'll check back and weigh in!