You might have noticed the lack of Puddiny discourse last night on The Inherent Evilness of Navel Lint or some similarly inane subject, but then again, you likely made it through the day anyway. I’m sure it was a struggle. I had a software prototype that needed finishing before an 11 AM demo for upper management today and I burned me some midnight oil last night, completing features and dropping delicate finishing touches. The Puddinette stumbled downstairs to the office at 5:30 this morning (it was still yesterday to me!), wondering if I was either slumped over my laptop, drooling upon myself in a state of semi-incoherence, or, worse, had been stolen away by little gray men with their….probing tools. Turns out neither was the case, I was just lost in getting One Last Thing done, and time always seems to evaporate when you’re working on that particular item.

It must have turned out alright, though, because I was told shortly before the black curtain of inevitable unconsciousness crashed over me this afternoon that the demo was a hit and the project was approved. So, yay! for me and Team Puddin (which, incidentally, is comprised of myself and um, er, yeah, me).

I used to do this kind of thing all the time, and obviously I’m not alone. No one gets that first dreaded Term Paper turned in without foregoing some amount of sleep the prior night. Well, no one except my lovely wife, of course. She’s always been one of those people, for whom an uncompleted task is a dark stain upon her mortal soul. An uncompleted to-do list weighs heavily upon her conscience, tormenting her like Poe’s Tell-Tale Heart; each item an unholy demerit, certain to result in the loss of favor with her Maker, and inevitably, eternal doom. I suspect her first term paper was complete many days in advance of turn-in. Mine, on the other hand, was still warm from the printer when it exchanged hands.

It’s not her fault, it’s the way she was made. We love her anyway. It is remarkable, though, that even given her…affliction, she still has a place in her heart for me. I know this might come as a shock, but I’m decidedly not concerned with the length of my own to-do list, and believe me, it grows daily. I’m resigned to the fact that The List will be with me always (like a ghostly Lifetime movie wife killed before her time) and will almost certainly remain long after I’ve shuffled off this particular coil. I’m actually trying to figure out a way to fit the damned thing into my Will. “PuddinPop, I bequeath you the Ferrari, but first you have to clean out the gutters, mulch the flower beds, and paint the second floor hallway”.

I like this idea…it might be time to call the attorney.

pud’n