Now, reader, I predict you will respond to this article in one of two ways. Nobody, however jaded or cynical, argues with diarrhoea). All chronic procrastinators – as you’ll probably already have worked out, it’s wisest and best to invent some sort of recurring illness, like migraines or a mysterious food intolerance. And there’s no embarrassment quite like that of being told that you’ve already used the excuse about taking your cat to the vet to get out of handing work in twice this term – have you got an especially ill cat? (N.B. There’s no feeling of panicked despair to rival that of realising you’ve got eight hours to plan and write a 7,000-word essay, and all of those hours are between 1 and 9am. There is no feeling of self-loathing quite like that of launching into your ninth hour of Friends, your mouth dry and salty with all the Walkers Sensations you’ve eaten, not really even watching the programme because you’re too panicky about all the work you haven’t done, and too busy imagining violent deaths for each of the Friends, all of whom you’ve slowly but surely come to despise over the course of the day. No – despite always seeming delicious, alluring and exciting at the outset, procrastination has brought me nothing but misery. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by.”Īnd I’ll tell you a secret: I don’t even enjoy it. I’ve always felt a profound sympathy for Douglas Adams, author of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and a notorious procrastinator, who once said: “I love deadlines. I can lie in bed eating Malteasers and watching iPlayer until roughly two hours before any given deadline without having started the work I can sit and read a novel on the train on the way to a presentation even if I haven’t got a clue what I’m going to say I had to get up at 2am on the morning of every single one of my final university exams because I somehow hadn’t got round to revising in the four years before them. There was the time a university tutor informed me curtly that I hadn’t handed one single essay to him on time throughout the whole academic year the hellish night in which I had to start and finish a 7,000-word coursework essay that I’d had 4 weeks to complete or the time I put off paying two £20 fines for months, and by the time I got round to it they’d escalated to a total of £400, and I had some seriously terrifying men ringing my mobile phone on what seemed like an hourly basis. But just so you don’t think I’m all talk, I’ll offer you a few examples.
My achievements in procrastinating are almost too numerous and too impressive to include in a short article. If there were an Olympics of procrastination, I would crush all opposition and lead Britain to a staggering victory. If there were a Michelangelo or a Shakespeare of procrastination, it would be me.
The art of putting things off is one for which I have a true gift. 10 Ways You’re Making Your Future Studies Difficult (Without Even Realising It).
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