Habits... we are all creatures of habit. I am undergoing a serious period of introspection, and I have come to realize this fact more than ever. As the days are getting longer, the sun shining warmer, and the earth is beginning to awaken from it's long winter's nap, I too am rousing as if from a deep disquieted sleep. I am awakening to the realization that my life is filled with actions based on habit, and many of them are not useful or productive.

I suffer the worst consequences from my habit of procrastination. It's like an all-pervasive virus that has spread throughout my being and I'm waiting for a miracle cure. I envision it now: I'll be skimming through late-night t.v., amazed at the drivel that makes it to the screen, & there it will be -- "For only 3 monthly installments of $69.95 for a one month supply, we will send you our amazing Procrast-B-Gone. These pills are gauranteed to work after taking them for only 9 months, or your money back." And even though the info-mercial is filled with personal testimonials to their miraculous capabilities, I'm unable to get up from the couch, find my credit card & make the call that will change my life. Procrastination takes over, along with the magnetic pull of the couch, and I settle back in to continue channel-surfing.

Of course, I don't like to call it "procrastination." That term sounds way too clinical. I much prefer to go with the more romantic moniker of "Scarlett O'Hara" syndrome. You know the deal: the house needs cleaning, but there are way too many books to be read, or movies to be watched and critiqued. So "I'll think about it tomorrow." In the meantime, dishes are stacking up in the sink, and the loads of laundry to be washed are too numerous to count. You know it's getting bad when you'd rather buy more socks than wash the 20 pair you already own. But I've read 2 books in the past week, and have begun 3 more. That Scarlett was a wise woman. Little did she know, she would become the icon for procrastinators the world over.

Another bad habit is smoking. I've been a closet smoker for many years - a puff here and there, bumming a cig off a co-worker, which eventually led to buying my own packs and now I buy cartons because it's cheaper. It's a nasty habit which serves no good purpose: I hate the smell of it on my clothes, in my hair and in my house. What is it about these evil little sticks that makes them so addictive? Whatever it is, can we add it to cauliflower or turnips? How about beets or broccoli? I know the world would be a much healthier place if we were addicted to fresh veggies.

But a good friend told me just last week that I'm "trainable." (I think it was intended in a good way, but one never knows...) The comment made me feel like Pavlov's dog. But on a cognitive level, I know my friend is right. I had never worn a seat belt in my life until I went through First Aid certification years ago. Watching all those gruesome films got to me; that very afternoon I put my seatbelt on for the first time, and now I can't even turn the key in the ignition without buckling up. I made a conscious decision to do it for about the first week, and now I don't even think about it. The saying goes something like this: "Thoughts lead on to purposes; purposes go forth in action; actions form habits; habits decide character; and character fixes our destiny."

So it is up to me to make a conscious effort to break my bad habits and replace them with good ones. I don't want to look back at the end of my life and see that my days were filled with a succession of bad habits I didn't have the willpower to break, instead of a life of accomplishment, whether great or small. Aristotle said it best: "We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence then, is not an act, but a habit."

My goals are small; I figure I better start out that way and build up to the bigger ones. I don't want to get discouraged too quickly. Here are a few of my goals: do at least one load of laundry everyday. At that rate, I could conceivably be caught up in about... 2 weeks. Every day, pick up something that's just lying around gathering dust and put it in it's place. At that rate... ok, I better rethink that equation and make it 10 items everyday, or it will take me 2 years to get my house in order. Last but not least: write. Every single day. Whether it's just a small quote I've come across and like and want to share, or whether it turns into a small novella, I must get the creative juices flowing again. And this little blog may just do the trick.

Signing off now to go put a load of clothes in the washer. Woof..

My, how things begin...

This all started out as an attempt to post a comment to a dear friend's new blog. And the next thing I know, a blog is born. A new, doddering-in-its infancy, baby blog. And I am it's perplexed mother. Those of you who know me realize that I am not the maternal type. Little ones make me nervous, with all of their decibel-shattering demands and constant craving for attention. (Although, if I couldn't wipe away my own drool, I might also be tempted to squawk until someone noticed & came to my rescue with a Wet-Wipe.) I digress...

This parental foray should be different. No poopy diapers or throw-up to clean up. No getting up at 3 a.m. to feed a cold and starve a fever. (Or is it starve a cold and feed a fever? I can never get that straight.) And I can pay as little or as much attention to it as I feel like, without fear of being reported to the Department of Children's Services.

Hmmm... this motherhood thing may not be so bad after all. As long as it only involves a blog.