Remains of the Day

"If you put off everything till you're sure of it, you'll never get anything done.”
-Norman Vincent Peale

My morning habit consists of setting a pot of water to boil and toasting some bread. Each time I stand in front of our toaster oven I unravel my mind slowly, contemplate the immediate future and muse about the fact that I really ought to scoop the old crumbs from the bottom of the appliance. It bothers me without fail every day as it has done for months on end. One day, I always fear, the toaster might have had enough and the remains of bread might start to smoke and burn.
As the bread toasts nicely and my tea steeps, I routinely start to think about what this day might bring, and what it might mean in the greater scheme of things. Would this be the day I do something I always wished to do? Or would the day slide into pitiful obscurity leaving me no better off than I was when I started it?
Such is my regular morning thought; consistently I worry so much about not getting anything done- for example writing a novel, attempting to have my work published, learning something new and valuable- that invariably I tend to steep, much as my tea does, and stagnate into wasteful idleness.
The other day I was observing as some garlic bread was gently turning golden brown.
"You do procrastinate," said the oven suddenly.
Stomach all of a rumble, I was not in much of a mood to argue but I insisted that I was not a procrastinator.
"You do. You put things off all the time," sizzled the oven with a faintly delicious and tantalising garlic breath.
"I do things," I replied. "I wrote a poem yesterday. I cooked a nice dinner."
"Well," said the toaster, "we're really discussing changing your life. Being useful in the world. Accomplishing something. Cooking and writing is all well and good but you can achieve those as well as bigger things. Ten years ago you thought of being a teacher."
"True," I had to concede.
"And a journalist."
"I see your point, Mr. Toaster. Life goes by and we don't even know we're pushing it aside."
"And many other plans- and where's that novel you've thought about for years? Is it even begun?"
"I suppose you're right," said I.
"I'll think about it, I promise. Could you hurry up now with that garlic bread?"
The toasted glared at me, unsure whether I had really learned my lesson.
Just to be certain, it cackled at me and made the buttery garlic bread burst into frightful flames.
I had to roar for Spouse who rushed in, saved the day and wisely lambasted me for not cleaning out the crumbs before the event.
Once the toaster had cooled down to a reasonable level below melting point, Spouse cleaned it out by himself.
I will work on the other matters.