Avoidance

I’m doing it again.

I’ve spent the week avoiding, procrastinating, evading, and dodging what I ought to be doing.

I’ve cleaned off the patio, tucked the rain/sun fly away, moved a couple of plants, and run to the dump and Lane Forest with recycling that could have waited.

I’ve worked on every one of the daily Sudokus, Jumbles, crosswords and Cryptoquotes, solving most.

I’ve spent hours playing Free Cell and Spider Solitare. Just one more game, I tell myself. Then I’ll . . . exercise, shower, eat, water, shop.

Today, I rearranged furniture and raced to Fred Meyer looking for the perfect table to replace the one by the window. (Mission accomplished – it’s even on sale!).

But what, you ask, should I be doing?

Writing! Getting past chapter eight, into chapter nine, finishing the story.

Oh, I’ve written a few paragraphs. And I scribbled a few notes while lunching at the Twin Dragon, but I spent most of that time engaged with one of the owners and his toddler daughter.

And now I’m going away for the weekend, to a camp near Sisters. The Pole Creek fire may change that plan, but I’ll probably find some other distraction. Re-painting the wall in the living room, sorting through my poems, organizing my desk. Important stuff, you know.

Yet I can’t chastise myself too harshly. A week ago today, I learned that a friend had died, a man not quite a year younger than I am. He had been ill, but was expected to recover. Death was not part of the plan.

I emailed the information to others who knew him and allowed myself time to process my feelings. I spent more time than normal seeking out mutual friends.

His service took up most of Tuesday: getting ready, preparing something for after the service and the service itself. Not wasted time, especially connecting afterward with his wife and with others I don’t see often.

But I just celebrated another loop around the sun. This coming year is the last of my seventh decade, the last year my age will begin with the number six. Today I noticed that six of the eight people listed in the Deaths column were my age or younger. Yikes! What an incentive! I’ll get busy on that chapter—just as soon as I . . .