Julie’s procrastination grew worse as she grew older. Now retired, she gave it free rein.
The shopping could wait until tomorrow – the bread and milk would last. The washing could pile up for a while yet. She’d do it all in one go, on a sunny day, make a holiday of it. The cleaning – well, hadn’t she cleaned two weeks ago when the neighbours came for drinks? An event Julie had put off for months, forced into it eventually by the neighbours’ pending move to a new home and their blatant hints that the promised drinks could be a farewell party.
Julie got around to her tasks eventually. Life made sure of that, like when she ran out of clothes.
There was one thing, however, which she kept procrastinating. Her kids nagged her every now and then about it, to which she’d reply, ‘But I still have time.’ And laugh at their head shakes.
‘But Mum,’ they’d say – bluntly and ungraciously – ‘if you don’t write that memoir you’ve been promising yourself soon, you’ll run out of time.’ Time being a euphemism for brain power and energy and the capacity to remember anyway.
Julie bridled. ‘How can I write a memoir when I still have so much life to live?’
Her thoughts would slide to the handsome, widowed Bill Smith whom she’d met at the church lunch club. She’d grow warm inside.
‘The best might still be to come,’ she’d chirrup.
That shut them up.
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“But I still have time,” Jay protested.
“No, you don’t,” his manager replied. “The show’s in a week and you haven’t prepared any new material – not even one joke!”
Jay shrugged his shoulders. People just did not realise how hard it was to be a stand up comic. The more shows you did, the more material you had to come up with – and sometimes it was impossible to think of new stuff.
“Look,” he said by way of explanation. “It’s not like turning on a tap. I need inspiration – and at the moment nothing comes to mind.”
His manager frowned.
“Well,” he said. “I am going to leave you to find some – and it had better be quick.”
And with that, he turned on his heel and left Jay’s office.
Jay gazed dreamily out the window.
Not sure why I decided to become a stand up comedian, he mused. It was ok at first, but as the years rolled on he found it more and more difficult to be funny.
The problem was, Jay insisted on writing all his own jokes, and now they were beginning to wear a little thin.
It was alright if the audience hadn’t heard them before, but he also had a core group of followers who came to every show. To placate them, he had to introduce SOME new material – otherwise they might start, intentionally or otherwise, harming his hard-won reputation.
Jay continued to swivel in his chair, eyes closed. Not a single new joke popped up. Desperate times brought desperate measures and, opening his desk drawer, he pulled out a large binder.
It contained a comprehensive list of jokes and other material compiled by many of his comedian colleagues and friends.
Jay was pretty sure they wouldn’t mind if he used some of it in his forthcoming show. After all, it wasn’t as if they hadn’t done the same to him on odd occasions.
He began to write furiously, sometimes chuckling across a phrase that was particularly amusing.
Some of this stuff is really good, he thought. I must do this more often.
Sure makes life easier – and he broke into a full throated laugh.
Recycling!
Love this. Isn’t that what we all think. Plenty of time to write our memoirs – until there isn’t!! LOL
Never has occurred to me to write my memoir!