When I turned on the computer this morning, I opened the spreadsheet program with every intention of spending most of the day working on the cost reports the Boss asked me for yesterday. He didnít ask me directly. I think he was afraid to, because he had already faxed me ten pages of typing that I hadnít been warned was coming. Then came the one-page fax with a list of six reports he wanted, ďwhen you get a chance.Ē
Today I had a chance, and it was part of my game plan. It didnít get done, though. It didnít get done last weekend, either, even though it was part of that game plan as well, long before the Boss felt he had to ask for it. Things came up, you know? Thereís always something more important to do right now, something that canít wait, while the cost reports are just as necessary but not as urgent.
But this weekend I was highly motivated. First, because of the list I got from the Boss. That meant he was thinking about it, and once I know he has that kind of an itch, itís my job to scratch it as soon as possible. Not only is it my job, but itís also in my best interest.
As usual, I didnít have to use much imagination to turn a must-do project into a must-do-later. Itís a talent that seems to come back to me every Saturday. I can parlay thirteen minutes of mowing (I kept track) into a whole morning of rest and recuperation. And then there was baseball, and a couple of races, and French toast at noon (how decadent!) and beans and rice at 9:00 pm (a little later than the optimum time).
You can see how thereís no time left to do cost reports that would have taken me an hour or so. I probably shouldnít even have tried to delude myself, but I get caught in my own optimism every week. I really, truly think Iím going to get the job done, and then I have to deal with the guilt by promising myself Iíll get around to it tomorrow. If we tried, we could probably parse how thatís going to come out without even thinking very hard.