Procrastination Nation

Well . . . I guess it’s that time again. Time to write this letter. In the spirit of the upcoming season, I’ve waited until the very last minute. It always seems like time starts to compress right around when daylight savings time ends. Spring forward, fall back, or something or another. Autumn just blows by like the stiff winds that strip the trees of their leaves.
     ‘Tis the season to put off everything until the very last minute. It’s a national pastime. Luckily we’re all dosed on the latest better-living-through-chemistry drug-of-the-moment being shilled on TV. Otherwise we’d probably be killing each other. Armed shopping — now there’s an idea. “Seriously, your honor, that damn lady was about to grab the last Miley Cyrus tongue doll. My little princess wouldn’t know what to do if she didn’t get one for Christmas, poor thing.” I’m pretty sure there have been stampedes at the 6 a.m. bargain bonanzas. Shopping has become a blood sport to which we seem well adapted.
     Not to say there’s anything wrong with toting guns around. I’d probably want a sidearm if I were hanging out in Somalia. You’d think Tennessee was like Somalia listening to some of our legislators. They got it to where I can carry a loaded weapon into a bar now. Wow. That’s some whacky shit. I’ve been around a lot of drunk people together in a large crowd, in a bar, and I gotta say I was glad no one was packing heat. Loaded people should stay away from loaded weapons, unless it’s a room full of state legislatures drunk off their asses with a bunch of AK-47s laying around. Which is probably why security is tight at the Capitol; it’s not so we can’t kill them, it’s so they can’t kill each other.
     Then again, since we’re all procrastinating, we’ve probably put off loading our guns, so hopefully we’ll be able to shop-‘till-we-drop in relative safety. Unless, of course, the asshole texting while making a 90 mile per hour beeline for the mall runs you off the road. I’m not sure people in general have a clue about what velocity does to weight where energy is concerned. So if a meteorite the size of marble is traveling at 17,000 miles per hour it will slice through the space station without even slowing down. Scary.
     Now where was I? Oh yeah, writing this letter. If I hadn’t waited until the last minute, it might have been about something really important. Maybe it still can be. Maybe I should talk about shopping locally. There are some really cool places around here to pick up last minute gifts, and you can probably ride your bike to get to them.
     Or I suppose I could talk tradition. That’s what this whole thing is about, right? At least it’s our cover story this edition, and it has been three years running. The Celebration of Home Tour has been going on for 35 years! Now that’s a tradition. Traditions are good to have, because they remind me that I’m not all that important in the grand scheme of things. They remind me to look around and appreciate the things that bring meaning to life.
     They remind me to look beneath the bling and the banter and the buy-buy-buy bombardment that accompanies the holiday season and to remember what’s it’s really all about.

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