WHAM-bam...

I like to procrastinate.

I mean, I don't really like to procrastinate, but I tend to procrastinate. Often.

Subconsciously I find a way to put off things that I don't really want to do. I suppose in my minds eye, it'll be more palatable to get to another day.

These could be small things, like clearing out that basket under the sink with multiple bottles of dish washing detergent or cleaning out that junk drawer. Or they can be large tasks. Reorganizing all the storage bins in the basement or cleaning out the garage space.

If they are on the small list; I figure I can get to it another day. No biggie.

But, if they are on the large list; perhaps the task is too daunting to attempt on my own, or overwhelming in it's scope...I just get it off my radar.

I'm convinced that living in denial could possibly be the root of all happiness.

I'm starting a new project in my home. Yes...another project. As soon as one gets completed, I move to the next on my wish list. This one is going to leave most of the second floor a wreck for several weeks. But I know the end result will be fantastic and enjoyed for years to come.

My plan , if all goes well, is to have it completed for the holidays.

My daughters room is on the south west side of the house. The room next to hers has become the 'catch-all' room. Off season clothing, things to be sorted, school projects and supplies, junk that isn't junk but needs to be organized...it all gets tossed in there. And then the door gets shut.

Out of sight, out of mind.

That room faces the front of the house and has a large beautiful window to let in the morning light. My plan is to knock out the wall between the two rooms and create one very large room.

Sounds great, right?

Perfect for a pre-teen?

Room enough for all those future sleepovers?

Except that means I've got to clean out the 'catch-all' room. Which also means I need to organize to find 'homes' for all the stuff that has mysteriously filled the room. A goes to B; B to C; C to D; D to E and then E can finally go back to A. There seems to be much schlepping in my immediate future.

It's funny how things have steps. Alcoholic Anonymous has twelve steps. Overeaters Anonymous has twelve steps. Narcotics, Debtors, Gamblers, Smokers, Workaholics, Sex Addicts...there are an abundance of twelve stepper groups to associate with. There is even a CLA; Clutterers Anonymous which I'm sure would welcome me with open arms.

But I don't need to have group therapy for the task at hand. I need some planning.

There will be at least twelve steps to complete my project. And as with all step programs, the first step is the always hardest. I need to commit myself to the task. So I don't put it off to another day.

This morning I took my sledgehammer and busted a huge hole into the wall.

As I hit the wall I realized what wonderful therapy it was. I could skip my workout because this exercise of destroying my daughters pristine bedroom wall was exercise in itself. It was not only physically exhilarating, but also stress eliminating. I could feel my worries disappear with each and every swing. My frustration with a peer at work, my disappointment in my relationship status, my hidden anger at the medical field for the inability to cure my mom. All these things kept jumping into my head and low and behold, I felt better. Much better.

Sometimes hitting something, or breaking something is the best therapy.

Back eons ago, when I was separated from my then husband, he had moved out of our home and into an apartment. Not just any apartment, but a really nice one on the lake. I thought it a bit extravagant since his rent was more than our mortgage payment, but who was I to question. I didn't rock the boat. I didn't have a voice.

I suspected his continued infidelity although supposedly that was over and we were going to work things out. I was in that neighborhood and stopped by unannounced. Despite his protests to the contrary, his behaviour belied the fact that he not only was continuing to see his mistress, but that she was there, right then.

I was hurt. I was angry. But I didn't say anything and got into my car to leave. At the base of the driveway I had a change of heart. What I realized at that moment was that I needed a voice. One that could be heard. One that would resonate loud and clear, way beyond this minute in time.

Who would've guessed that my voice would come in the form of the brush bar of my Land Rovers. I put my Discovery into drive, floored the gas pedal and crashed the garage door.

Oh yes. I did.

Twice. For full measure.

On my second smash into the heavy wooden door, the alarm from the BMW cradled inside started to wail. I had an exuberant feeling with each high pitched squeal of the car I just killed. I backed down the driveway, flew the bird to my husband standing gaped mouthed in the window and drove off.

I decided it would be prudent to make a visit to my parents home. I reasoned there would be a high probability that I may need to secure a temporary loan from them to fix the damage due to my impetuous demolition derby. My mother stood in our U-shaped kitchen washing dishes while my dad and I sat at the kitchen table. I braced myself for the lecture of a lifetime, but instead what I got was a laugh.

My dad started laughing as I've rarely heard him before. One of those deep guttural laughs that can only be described as a chortle. Tears streamed from his eyes. At which point I couldn't help by laugh along as well.

My mother peeked her head from under the kitchen cabinets and a sweet soft voice said, "How...did it feel?"

"Great, mom. Fantastic even."

"I've always wanted to do something like that, but have never had the courage to do it.", she said in her sugary voice.

My dad chimed in through his laughter, "So that's why you have a brush bar!"

That was it.

We were all done in, laughing hysterically in the kitchen. We laugh about it still.

That one moment was worth 5 years of therapy.

It allowed me to step beyond where I was. Which before then I hadn't been able to do. So yes, there is therapeutic satisfaction in hearing the sound of breaking glass, splintering wood and crunching metal.

It also makes us push forward. Without the possibility of procrastination.

Just about the same way this huge hole in my wall just did.

I suppose the next tool that I need...is a checkbook.

:-)