Procrastination, the art of deceiving oneself

We all do it. Every single one of us. We tell ourselves that we’ll do it later, some other time, an hour from now. I am even doing it right now, while writing this article. But why do we do it? Why does prolonging the inevitable seem like such a good idea? I will try to find out why.

Procrastination gives the illusion of time. For why would one waste such a precious commodity as time unless you had unlimited amounts of it. Procrastination, or ‘putting it off’, allows for the basic human instinct of wanting to get what they want straight away, possible. For instance, why would you do something such as an English assignment when you could do something much more entertaining as, say, watch several movies without regard to what little time is left to finish said assignment.

Now maybe I’m the only person to waste my time as such. But after a cursory glance on information related to procrastination there seems to be many people who procrastinate. There are also several forms. It seems I have ‘Student syndrome’. Don’t let the name fool you however, this syndrome is said to carry onto adulthood where for matters such as tax returns, leads to much stress at the very last minute.

Society doesn’t seem to look too fondly on people who are known to procrastinate. While everyone seems to do it, it is inherently bad. A person who procrastinates is seen as lazy, irresponsible and a bad handler of time. And yeah, they probably well are. But maybe to procrastinate is not such a bad thing. In many instances people under stress and limited times can produce great works of art. This article unfortunately, isn’t.

Even while writing this article I still procrastinate. I avoid writing with every pause, every time that I must check Facebook, every time I just have to talk on msn. But why do I do it? Why can’t I just get it over and done with, and then spend the rest of my time on more meaningful pursuits, such as sleep. I don’t know. I guess it’s the same reason I cannot just ‘rip’ off a bandaid, instead painstakingly peel it back slowly and painfully. The same reason it takes me half an hour to will myself to take my socks and put them in the wash. I think I’m just lazy. And tired.

But why am I tired? I’m tired because I procrastinated the previous night and therefore had to stay up late completing an assignment. What a viscous cycle. Then tomorrow I know I have to shave, so I will set my alarm half an hour early. Not because it takes half an hour to shave, but because I know I will procrastinate for half an hour in the morning before I shave. And so getting up that half an hour earlier I get just that bit more tired.

… I did it again. I decided I just had to go see what was on TV with the TV guide. Not that I was watching TV, had any intention to but because I managed to make myself believe that I needed to. Just because. Procrastination is obviously the human bodies attempt to get back at itself for its laziness. Instead of rest, I punish myself by prolonging this excruciating experience that bit further. That has to be it. Especially seeing as those who treat their bodies well and exercise, seem to never procrastinate. Or maybe that’s because people who don’t procrastinate don’t put off things like exercise… Who cares?

While procrastination generally leads to work not being completed, this time however it has done the opposite. In this case because of procrastination I completed this assignment, how ever bad it may be. But then if I hadn’t I would have completed my work regardless, but that’s a different story. To me, right now, procrastination has both doomed and saved my day. Or more realistically, my night.

Ah, the best part of an assignment. The end. It is so close you can almost feel it, but no, it doesn’t seem to get any closer. But why! Why must I procrastinate even at the end. I truly am addicted to procrastinating, I should start a Procrastaholics anonymous…. Mmm, Ill do it some other time.

Three Words.

Three words, three simple words. These words manage to break even the strongest of men. “Let’s go shopping!” she rattled off with such speed, as if in an attempt that I would not comprehend her and simply agree to what would become an agonising experience comparable to the likes of Guantanamo Bay. While not an American detention facility responsible for various crimes against humanity, the shopping mall is every man’s consumeristic hell.

The constant tug of her hand towards the entrance incites images of a lion dragging its captured prey into his den. This is a terrible idea. The doors open with their own grace and the gush of the air-conditioning uplifts the otherwise dismal mood. “Where do you want to go, hun?” unsuccessfully feigning interest. “Why everywhere of course!” she stated with such enthusiasm it was almost sickly. Going from shop to shop I formed a system to keep myself amused. My mission who I unfortunately chose to accept is to help find the mysterious perfect outfit for the mythical party that evening. The ticking time bomb, being beside me, wasn’t finding said outfit and the chances of leaving the centre unscathed was getting smaller by the second. I have to react and fast. Eyeing down a store which sold overpriced clothes tacked together with minimal thread, I quickly shoo her towards the dresses. My luck! It’s the wrong size. Limiting the disappointment, the next five boutiques are checked with similar levels of success. With frustration reaching critical levels in my partner, I need to release with my most effective weapons: Reassurance and humour. While these techniques are useful individually, in combination it leaves the girl in fits of laughter and de-stressed, which in this situation is the desired result. Now calm, the search continued up and down the centre. Minutes stretched into hours and my legs start to punish me for the disrespect I show my gender. While deploying the well practiced search pattern of ‘wander aimlessly’ in a store which was sporting more reflective surfaces than a two-bit carnival mirror house, the long awaited mission accomplished was sighted. With the purchase finally made and the end of shopping in sight, life starts to crawl out of every crevice in the centre, the world suddenly goes from a restrictive hell to a land of endless possibilities. Using this newfound perspective, I summon the energy to rush for the exits and remind myself that just like jail sentences, shopping should only occur when I have done something wrong.

When will women learn that men detest the ‘sport’ of shopping? Any guy who states otherwise obviously is a blatant liar or has an overly fond liking of Celine Dion. There is of course the exception of underwear shopping. Just once I would like when she says she wants to go shopping for thongs for her to not mean the type for her feet.