Cabinet: (n) a cupboard with drawers or shelves for storing or displaying articles.
It was my first apartment.
I point that out so you will not think I continue to be stupid or am perpetually lazy.
I was young, impetuous and wanted to come across looking like I had some ability, so I said, “Don’t worry about it. I think I can take care of this one.”
We will never know if my statement was true–because I never found the time to work on that cabinet, which was determined to come unhinged.
After a while, it began jutting out more and more and dipping. (Basically, I never had to reach in to get the dishes–just opened the door and they fell out.)
I actually became adept at putting a hand on the middle of the cabinet, getting it to latch enough to look as if it was repaired.
It was not. Repaired, that is.
It did cling for a while, but then one day, when I was loading dishes and all of them were stacked, it gave way and fell from the wall, scattering plates in every direction–of course, breaking each and every one.
Being the mental giant I was and the essence of true wisdom, I yelled at the cabinet.
I told it where to go.
It did not care. It had given sufficient warning of its dismal intention.
I could have fixed it, but then I would have lost all those days of procrastinating enjoyment.
For you see, procrastination is very fulfilling until it catches up with reality–where payment is demanded.