Why does it never feel like there’s enough time to do anything when I have more than enough time? We’re all blessed with the gift of time- after all, we’re alive today.

I make a to-do list for each day, and I guess you could call me an optimist for thinking I can check off all of the items. Sometimes I do, but most times I don’t.

I spend too much time reading what I wish I could write, and too much time writing what I wish I could read. It’s difficult to figure out what the best use of my remaining time in the day would be, or if there even is a best use.

I reorganize drawers that are already fairly organized, considering I don’t plan on getting rid of the already limited contents inside. I fold endless loads of laundry; the laundry basket always seems to be full.

And then there’s the unwritten list of tasks I’m putting off.

Painting my walls because the sea foam green color that once seemed trendy now makes my stomach churn. Shaving my legs since I hate to do it, yet my mother’s nagging and society’s standards coerce me into thinking I need to. Doing an actual workout, more than just going on a walk, and one where I keep going and finish it all the way through. Writing the stories I think I’d be best at writing, the ones about myself, because I’m not sure I’m ready to make myself that vulnerable.

Sure, I procrastinate on normal things once in a while. The essay that I just don’t have an idea for. Studying for final exams that I don’t want to accept are coming. Cleaning my pretty much all-white bathroom that’s become varying shades of brown. It happens to me just like it happens to anyone. But for the most part, I’m pretty good at staying on task and getting these things done. I’m comfortable with my hamster-on-a-wheel lifestyle jumping from one task.

But what about the things I want to do? The things that would be good for me?

People don’t realize that you can procrastinate those.

I hope you enjoyed this piece! I know procrastination is something that everyone struggles with at some point, but I wanted to acknowledge the fact that it manifests in different ways in different people’s lives, just like any other habit. Please let me know if you have any feedback on this piece or any creative writing challenges for me to try out in the future! Stay safe and healthy.

Brooke

I’m sitting in a yard that is unfamiliar, yet it’s been my occasional sanctuary for a few years. The breeze ruffles the petals of the various flowers and plants around me. My mother has so many plants that you can’t even see the layers of dirt and fertilizer in the planter anymore.

My hair, becoming a lighter shade of golden under the sun, flows around my shoulders. Some pieces occasionally float in front of my eyes, obstructing my view of the yard, but it doesn’t trouble me. I don’t think I’ll miss anything.

I get nervous when the bees come to harvest pollen from the large bush of lavender beside me. Sometimes one will buzz too close to my ear, and I’ll abandon my normally secure spot on the lounge chair nearest to the flowers. I never understood why the bees only come to that lavender bush, when it’s probably the plainest, dullest colored plant in this yard.

The orange poppies with yellow rims have opened up, a few pink poppies beginning to open themselves right next to them. Succulents of all types inhabit colorful pots my mom has collected from a variety of places; a few have grown so much they needed to be replanted into the dirt in the actual planter alongside all the “normal” plants.

I turn to look behind me and notice the light pink rosebush in the corner, nestling against the ivy that covers our fence. I could’ve sworn the roses were white last year.

There’s flowers among flowers among flowers among other plants I can’t name- rich with pinks, greens, reds, oranges, blues, and purple that is much more vibrant than that of the lavender bush.

Sometimes I forget how beautiful this garden has become. It’s so easy to think of the barren patches of dirt, or weeds that resided here years ago. Or the fact that as I try to admire the plants, there’s at least one neighbor currently mowing their lawn, or a plane flying overhead.

There are no real sanctuaries from everyday life, but if there were, my mother’s garden would be one of them.

I hope you enjoyed this little piece! It was kind of fun to just look around my yard and pick out the parts I wanted to write about. I do love admiring the various flowers and plants- my mom’s become quite the gardener in the past couple years. Please let me know if you have any feedback on this piece, or any writing challenges for me to try out in the future!

Brooke