Now that I’ve got all of this time on my hands, I should start working on a new book. That would be the logical thing to do, but these are crazy times. Don’t you find it odd that sometimes we get the most done when pressed for time? I’ve always been a bit of a procrastinator. I wrote my college papers more than once at some ungodly hour when the rest of the world was sleeping. Never again! Well, at least not until next week.
So here I am looking for ways to keep myself amused instead of watching another press briefing from the White House. After you’ve seen a couple of episodes, they all seem the same. What a misnomer “press briefing” is when you think about it. First, for all of the talking that takes place, there’s not much “briefing” going on. Or to look at it another way, there’s nothing “brief” about those drawn-out affairs.
I’ve started to develop somewhat of a routine since the stay at home order started. I begin most of my days with a three-four-mile walk. (We’re allowed to exercise as long as we remain socially distant.) That would generally be a good thing as exercise often gets my mental juices flowing, but such has not been the case. The remainder of the day is spent reading books, surfing the net, binge-watching Netflix, and thinking about all of the other things I should be doing. It’s a vicious cycle.
I was going to clean out the garage, but that would involve actual work. It would be nice to find those old P90X exercise videos with Tony Horton I used ten years ago, but the last thing I want to do is to spend three hours cleaning out the garage only to find that they aren’t there. So instead, I’ll think some more about all of the stuff I should be doing. That’s much more productive.
The other day I did something for the first time—I shaved my head. Why? I wish I could give you a better reason, but I just wondered what it would look like. My reasoning was solid. If it looks terrible, I’ll be at home several more weeks, grow my hair back, and nobody will ever know the difference. You need to be creative when it comes to pandemics. I did manage to get one of those looks from my wife—you know the one where she looks at you incredulously, wondering if her husband has lost his mind.
I also started growing a beard a couple of weeks ago. I usually have a mustache, but it’s been a bit since I rocked a beard. It’s now in that ugly, scruffy stage. One of the funny things about being sixty-one-years old is all of the different hair colors I’m producing at this stage of life. I’m like a human collage.
I’ve never been that guy who pays a lot of attention to his appearance. Don’t get me wrong—I do shower every day and brush my teeth. It’s just that as I’ve gotten older, I realize that I don’t care (as much) about what others think about me. That, in itself, is a great feeling of freedom.
While I was still teaching, I went clothes shopping with my better three-quarters once a year and purchased my entire wardrobe. Debbie has much better fashion sense than me and would often recommend clothing choices. (Okay, I’ll admit it—she dresses me.) My wife knows me better than anyone and understands that my patience meter runs out after ninety minutes of shopping. Somehow, we’d always manage to get out in time with four pairs of pants, some stylish shirts, two belts, socks, and some comfortable dress shoes. That was not an easy task, but Debbie is a professional.
I’ve got about as much patience with shopping as I do with going to the DMV. I should qualify that remark by saying my last DMV appearance was remarkably efficient—much different from my past experiences. I’m used to standing in one line for a half-hour, only to be directed to a new row to wait another twenty minutes.
You’re the first ones to get a look at my new look: Pete Springer—trendsetter. I’m about to become an Instagram sensation, but you can tell others that you knew me before I became famous.
Enough with all of this foolishness. Tomorrow is the day I start on that next book. I have an obligation to live up to my standards as a procrastinator.