Will We Ever Get Around to That?

Just when does "later" get here? Can anybody tell me? I've been putting this off until "later" and it's "later" but it still feels like "now" because theres so much crap that still needs to be done and I'm going to get to it "later."

What gives here? If I put on glasses with lenses like a grape Fanta I can look back to a time not long ago when I seemed to have time flowing out my nose. "Later" was always now because there was so little other obligation that "Now" was as good as "Later" and things were getting done so I could "relax" and get some "rest." Rest? Come on boys and girls, I'm so behind on sleep that time has begun to retrograde on me and I'm terrified of looking in the mirror some morning and find myself wearing a velour pullover from the seventies. These were the kind of things you'd wear if you were moonlighting as a jewelery box. You can still see them at comic book conventions. They're draped around big boned guys with 'pube 'staches who live at their mom's, in the basement and eat cheese sandwiches, one or two of which are lost in their stack of Sub Mariner number fourteen through thirty eight.

But lets pick on them another day, shall we?

No kidding, I'm tiring the cats out being awake all the time, bouncing around the house, getting this and that and the other thing done while I'm just trying to get it out of the way so I can concentrate on the first thing. Tonight for example; the knob and tube palace got cleaned up since Thumper and I have been away for a few days and one of the animals decided she'd see if she could shed enough to make a sibling. Pretty damn close. Oh, and thanks for the overhand litter flinging. How you can get granules of clay fully forty feet away and down a flight of stairs to boot from their original resting place without benefit of opposable thumbs is something I should have gotten on tape.

But I didn't so the "Cats Are Taking Over My Home and Ordering Pizza with Toppings I'd Never Touch" segment on Oprah is going to have to wait.

But let's pick on her another day, shall we?

Got knob and tube relatively fur free tonight. The lawn will have to wait, so will the bills, so will framing the last of the photographs because there's still so much current crap I have to get around to. Dealt with the mail that came while we were away and realized that there's a reasons the walnut out back is dropping branches precariously close to where I walk: There's probably a cousin or nephew stuffed in my mailbox. Remember the paperless office of the seventies? Replaced by what? The clueless drone of the oughties?

Mail is just another thing to deal with while I get to other stuff "later." And the other stuff is pretty important. There's a treehouse I have to get done before it's intended inhabitant graduates with some post doctoral degree. A new ceiling has to be put into the bedroom before they solicit me to make a remake of Raiders of the Lost Ark treasure room scene in there. And no, I'm not painting the spider webs gold in anticipation of holiday decorating for those of you thinking the obvious. The car needs to be washed since I am firmly convinced that every seagull in New England was at an enchilada and ouzo cookoff in my parking lot this weekend.

But I'll put it all off until "later" It's gotten late again and I'd like to get a few more hours sleep than the minimum wage has dollars in it. That in mind you want to shunt off all your current obligations into some stinky, mouldy metaphysical cardboard box and put it all on a high cranial shelf. And you know you can do it and you further know that it will lose its grip and come crashing to your brainpan floor somewhere around three thirty this morning.

When the clock officially strikes "later."

Bunny on.