Procrastinating productively Vol.1

Procrastinating is something I’m an expert at.

Usually, in my desperation to avoid writing, I procrastinate so hard that I even clean my house, which – let me tell you – it’s a thing I’m not very fond of. Ever.

The thing is though, that sitting on my chair trying to motivate myself to write and failing miserably as I go from tumblr to twitter and from cat images to watching Leverage while I knit, isn’t always about procrastinating.

It’s about taking a break. Distance myself from the story and do something that doesn’t need to put any creative thinking on it. I mean, what kind of creative thinking I really need to knit, purl, knit, purl while Parker is yelling “Yeeehaa” as she drops from the top of a building and Eliot says for the hundredth time “Dammit Hardison”.

Yeah, exactly. Not much. If none at all. Just enough to make sure I don’t miss my stitches.

It took me a while to realize that creative thinking doesn’t come at request. I love writing and I love reading but there is a point that I want nothing to do with words. The funny thing is that at those moments, cleaning my house does indeed sound like a good idea. And because I’m lazy and I do all my chores just because I have to, whining every minute of them, I do them in intervals of lazing around.

What I do like to do though is taking care of my garden. Granted, it isn’t much of a garden, considering I don’t have a garden. But I have many flower pots at my balcony and many flowers that need constant care. Growing up, my mother’s balcony was always filled with bright green schefflerae, and fici, and geraniums and basils, all of which my mother – a gardener in her profession- patiently took care of, watering them, cropping them, reapplying dirt in the pots that needed it. Every once in a while we would re-pot the plants that overgrew their pots, we would buy knew ones or we would grieve over the ones that withered due to a plant disease or unknown reasons. Until this day, she does all these with the same love she takes care of her family. Next to her I’ve learned many things about gardening, too, which was why I had promised myself that at my own house I wouldn’t have any plants. They were too much work.

Of course, one of the first things I did when I moved out of my parent’s house and into my own was to buy flowers for my balcony and almost every room in the house. I discovered zamias and lilies (I’m forever in awe with zamias and how little water they need- but they do need their light so be careful), my cat destroyed my bougainvillea by peeing in it, and I will forever fight against rose slugs. Well, I still call my mother when I’m not sure how to crop a plant so that it will flourish next year. Apparently, I can’t live without plants.

But all those plants and  flowers I’ve surrounded myself in need care and I’m still working on that. What I have discovered  (yeah, I know, I’m always late to this kind of revelations shhh) is that gardening – if I can call it that considering my literal lack of a garden— helps with taking a break.

It offers a purpose when there is none. Those days that writing is difficult and the ideas are drinking coffee in another universe alongside my motivation, gardening helps refocusing. It’s a way of procrastination that is both helpful and productive. It’s a hobby.

Writing isn’t easy and it’s not constant. It needs fuel. Sometimes that fuel is reading a book, sometimes it’s a walk; sometimes it’s watering the plants.

Well, I have no idea where I was going with this but at least my vervain is happy that I finally realized that she needs to be watered every single day.