The next ten minutes

You've reached the end, so here's what I'd like you to do with it.

Put the book down and find the small job that's been bothering you most. It should be one of the things you've walked past all week. Guess how long it'll take, start a timer, and do it.

Then stand in the room for a moment, and pay attention to how the room looks and how you feel. I'd expect a small, quiet relief. It's different from the relief that "later" gives you, because this one doesn't wear off when you next walk past. That's the evidence this whole book has been pointing at, and it's better that you collect it yourself than take my word for it.

After that, choose tomorrow's plan. One sentence is enough. "When I switch the kettle on, I'll empty the dishwasher." Add a second plan next week if the first one has settled in, and stay with one if it hasn't.

You'll still put things off sometimes. Everyone does, including people with immaculate homes. The difference is that you'll know what you're buying when you do it, and what it costs, and most days you won't think it's worth the money.

The pan has soaked long enough. Go and wash it.