letting go

I have trouble letting go. I think that's the reason I go to bed too late, don't get enough sleep, have to catnap during the day, hey - procrastinate.  When I was doing my reading about women's diaries , I came across a woman who had a similar problem. Excerpts from her diary appeared in a collection titled PRIVATE PAGES: DIARIES OF AMERICAN WOMEN, 1830S-1970S, edited by  Penelope Franklin.  It's a treasure trove. I recommend it if you can find it.  Anyway, Ethel Robertson Whiting (1882-1974) had the same problem I have.   She described it: "Not without a struggle can I bring myself to end the day, with no assurance that another of equal happiness is to  follow."  It's the ending part  that, like her, I have trouble with. I wouldn't say my days are so happy. It's the transition, in everything I do, not just at night when I must force myself to quit and go to bed. Once I am fairly settled in some useful, or pleasant, or even necessary though hateful, activity, I have trouble leaving off and getting on with something else. I think this used to be called dawdling. Yes, dawdle is defined as to waste time or be slow.  Prissy, the maid in Gone With the Wind, who didn't know nothin about birthing babies,  is the best example I can think of.  She was a world-class dawdler. My dawdling is different because the activities that are separated by dawdling are different. Not that all of them are useful.   I used to say that one of the best things about marriage was that there was someone there who made you go to bed.  I wasn't talking about sex, I was talking about keeping regular hours.  I'm just a girl who can't let go.  Like right now.