I have a secret. I am a chronic procrastinator. There are days and even weeks when I can fly under the radar and I can be productive and organized (at the same time). Unfortunately, they are coming fewer and farther between. The brutal truth is I am at the Master level in this sport. If there were trophies and medals given out for putting projects and important things off until the very last second, I would have a trophy room the size of a two-car garage.

Procrastination feels like a form of progressive mental disease. Finding clever ways to become sidetracked and focused on something new is the ultimate payoff for a procrastinator.

Let's be real for a second. I am my own worst enemy. Somewhere along the way, I started hanging out with an unsavory crowd and instantly bonded with my new BFF, the thief of time. Like so many other bad habits, I didn't realize how dependent I had become until it became an issue.

Hiding behind words like "overwhelmed" and "busy" allow me to pretend I am a responsible adult with a lot of things to do and little time to do them in. I will find creative excuses all day long about why I have not done housework. It allows me to justify why I really went home after work and binge-watched Netflix till bedtime.

As my mental post-it of "things I need to do but don't want to do" grew exponentially, I attempted to crumble the brick wall of procrastination that my BFF and I built. Along the way, I collected a great library of self-help books that range from Feng Shul for your brain to getting rid of everything except a change of clothes and four kitchen utensils. I am now a certified life coach, a genius at giving advice to others battling the 'Thief of Time.' I can guarantee success but have yet to personally put it into action.

There have been times when I have put so many things in the 'not now, I'll do it later' pile that it feels like I am suffocating in quicksand. I could pull off a recurring role on one of the many Netflix shows I binge watch as "the chick that always stumbles in a pit of quicksand." The survivalist guide to escaping quicksand clearly states to remain calm and whatever you do, don't try and get out. It only makes your situation worse.

Unfortunately for me, I never read past the first few lines because I pulled a, "Ok. Great! I know just enough to escape. I'll put this on the top of the need-to-do stack." From time to time I give a little squeak that sounds suspiciously like asking for help.

I have been in my own little quicksand space for so long now, I don't remember when I first stepped in. Likewise, I have no clue when it became so oppressive and suffocating. Loved ones occasionally hear my plea for help and most come running. Some have stood on the side, arms crossed while looking down on me in frustration because they have tried to help me save myself many times before.

They will throw me a lifeline with different suggestions attached, such as, "Break off bigger projects into small ones to avoid becoming overwhelmed" or, "Set up a calendar and alarms to remind yourself to start working on things earlier."

I grab the lines and breathe a sigh of relief that I can suddenly begin to feel some relief from the weight of everything that was holding me down in my pit of quicksand. It never fails, I open my mouth and out comes the list of "Yea, but's". With each "Yea, but" I lose my grip on the line. Eventually, I say, "Yea, breaking projects down into smaller tasks and setting alarms is great advice but I would rather do it all at once." And I am right back where I was sitting in my pile of excuses.

I wish I could say that procrastination is a phase that I will grow out of, but I would only be lying to myself. At some point, I will be forced to deal with the repercussions of befriending the 'Thief of Time.'

By the way, there is no trophy room yet. That is on my need-to-do list.