It's my schedule and I'm sticking to it

To consciously procrastinate is one thing: it's a strategery, an art. A way to balance what I like with must be done with what I cannot possibly think about until some later, just-in-the-nick-of time. But to be constantly running like George Jetson and Astro--never getting anywhere, never catching up? This just sucks.

It's not like I don't know what the problem is, here on my non-animated treadmill. By decree of the all-powerful bus companies, my school's schedule has moved later. Being such a model of workday virtue (or knowing that traffic would just swallow the difference), I arrive at the same time I always have, and really, it's nice not to rush, though the work and ever-expanding bureaucracy fill every extra minute. But apparently arriving home at my once-accustomed early hour was the fulcrum on which my whole weekday world balanced, and now, six weeks in, I'm still off-kilter. I get home too late, and the evening is short and busy with kid stuff and nothing is done before the wee hours and now, and now, and now the new TV season is here! Survivor has already started without me, and the red light on the DVR reminds me that I've added three more shows even tonight.

What to do? Why justify, of course. And procrastinate. A student even asked me the time and channel for Heroes: it's good to have something to discuss with these young people today. Lord knows I can't listen to their music. But Weeds? No, I'm not explaining that one to 'em. But it's only 25 minutes. Not even a half-hour. And so funny. Mental health is important. And it's not even midnight yet.