Stress. Avoidance. Duty. Avoidance. Anxiety and stress. Avoidance. Avoidance. Avoidance!
Socks are embracing what has to be done. Find them, pair them, wash them, pair them again, put them away. That's a lot of work for the smallest item of clothing in the drawer.
My feet used to stink. Not a warm, buttered-popcorn smell. Not the smell of a 7 year old. Nope. Full on, been-slogging-though-swamp-in-the-same-combat-boots-foot-rot smell.
"Dad, do I have gangreen?"
"No son, just enough athlete's foot for the whole team!"
That's the bad kind of procrastination.
I went to school with hot socks a lot. Hot socks! Not out of the dryer hot (because we didn't have one and because it wouldn't have been fast enough!) Just came off the baking rack, "Put these on, your late for school," HOT. Once, they went in grey and up to my knee and came out multi-colored and falling down to my ankles. I predated 90210, Tiffany, and Madonna with my bunched around the ankle socks. At least those were clean.
That's inherited bad procrastination.
All the times I showed up a at a friend's house to hang out only to see a ton of shoes in the hall, you would think I'd be a pro at fabricating a wonderful excuse for keeping mine on. Not.
"Um, I forgot to put on clean socks today," was all I could muster.
The lie was an admission of the truth. Is that still a lie... at least I warned them. Shoes upside down. Socks with holes. But that's okay because I never crossed my legs, put my feet up, or moved them much lest the holes be visible and the smell waft. My habits got in the way of my fun.
That's dumb procrastination.
Go do what you don't want to do.
