A Slow Leak

“There comes a time in the affairs of a man when he must take the bull by the tail and face the situation.” W. C. Fields

On Saturday I had big plans to attend the Evans County Rattlesnake Roundup in Claxton. So much for best-laid plans! I walked out, fresh and full of expectation. A black cloud moved in and sunk my spirits.

I saw a red chalk mark on a front tire. I looked closer. The head of a silver nail stared back. O, excrement, I wanted to say, but you know what came out. I checked the tire pressure...sure enough, a slow leak.

Why me? I screamed at the heavens but refrained from also shaking a fist skyward. I'm no fool when it comes to cursing the heavens...last I heard the Occupant had a long memory. And I already have enough black marks against me.

I should have done the smart thing, like change the tire. But since I've never been called bright, I didn't. I just over-inflated, drove on and hoped. This is what fools do...procrastinate, preferring a temporary fix for a permanent solution. But I was lucky that day to have neither been snake-bit on the road nor in the roundup circus.

Since I'm a serial procrastinator, I'm sitting in the hip doctor's waiting room writing this epistle at the 11th hour. Why am I here? Another procrastination lament. I'm sitting here waiting for the x-ray results. Meanwhile, the life of my hip seems to be oozing out in a slow leak.

'Waiting' is the operative word in today's medical world. It gives one totally too much time to contemplate ailments. I study the wall charts that demonstrate the hip's action in graphic color. Mine is the one with bone spurs that resemble bicycle spokes radiating out from a worn-out wheel socket. I shudder, sit down, thankful not to be looking at heart and intestinal charts. My body can’t afford any more leaks. At least my ego has so far escaped puncture.

This all got me thinking about the insidious process of leakage. It reminds me of my gigantic character flaw held over from youth. That of procrastination. Given this proclivity, it's a miracle I ever entered life in the first place...heck, I may even be late for my funeral.

Not that I'm alone in this despicable trait. I know two more I can call by first name. Yet it helps to voluntarily come out of the closet, so to speak, and confess my failings publicly. I may be the chief procrastinator of all time. Some badge in life is better than no title, dontcha think?

As for me, I'm long overdue in writing this 'Great Come-clean Confession.' I have a good friend, a psychiatrist, that I consulted years ago about the procrastination problem. He procrastinated in giving me a couch visit, saying I didn't have enough money nor did he have enough time to cure an incurable disposition. Since then I've been happy to condone this debilitating condition, realizing psychiatry is best left to the insane. And he was right…I didn’t have enough money.

Waiting for the doc's visit gives me time to think. Why do we procrastinate? The reasons are multiple...I think mine is the stupid belief that things will work out if left to themselves. But it could just be the inherent trait of most unregenerate Southerners to be lazy. Why else does Cracker Barrel still put rocking chairs on their front porch?

Slow leaks abound. Every roof leaks sooner or later, bank accounts melt down faster, portfolios diminish and cash deflates at an alarming rate. We sit around waiting for the other shoe to fall and endure, like water torture, the slow leaks of our lives.

Maybe the unexpected tire blowout is preferable, like the one I had last week. At least my options were clear...change it or walk.

What's slowly leaking from your life? Hope it's not a hip!

Bud Hearn
March 17, 2011