I spent an hour or so yesterday wading through the Fringe programme and trying to decide whether I could afford to go to, and fit into the time, all the shows I was interested in. Although I hate making lists since they nudge me towards a level of organisation that just isn’t compatible with my lifestyle, I had to make a short list, and then whittle it down again to make it more realistic.
That was only the first step. Then I had to find my diary, in which, again contrary to type, I had recorded my Book Festival bookings and my Front of House engagements at my theatre group, and I had to work out which of the Fringe shows I could fit in around these existing dates. Then I had to look for them on the Fringe website and see if there were any tickets left… Of course I didn’t actually make any bookings – that would be too simple – I will wait until another day when some of them will undoubtedly have sold out and my plans will be in ruins.
In defence of my apparently chronic tendency to procrastinate, I must just add that I need to ring the vet tomorrow and arrange to take the cats for their vaccinations during my holiday week, so everything else will have to be fitted in around that essential task.
I think the more activity I can plan, the more likely it is that I will finish my self-imposed task of editing the latest novel in my mystery series. Somehow if the time seems endless, there is no reason to get on and do anything productive.