To defer action; delay: to put off untill another day or time.
Of course I’m sure you’re all familiar with this devilish fiend, I certainly am. As of next week I will be starting to hand in my final pieces of work. But this beast is doing it’s best to make sure I’m not ready. It hounds me, it tugs and it prods and pulls, it nudges and it shoves and it jabs until finally I relent. Desperate for a break, not from the word document in front of me that boasts a glorious and hard-won three words, but from the lure of being anywhere that’s not in front of the damnable computer screen. Indeed, Procrastination and I are well acquainted.
Oft times I wish we had never met, I lament for the days where Focus used to accompany me wherever I went but almost without noticing we seem to have drifted apart. Sometimes we have a little get together, reminisce about the good old times but it never lasts. All too soon the ugly shadow of Procrastination looms large in the doorway and, intimidated, Focus flees.
At the moment there are three ways in which Procrastination appears to me. On occasion it comes to me as a walk to Asda, I tell myself it’s to clear my head so that upon my return work will go better, that the sunshine or the rain or whatever the unpredictable moods of the weather will throw at the coast will be good for inspiration.
Foolishly I think my reasonings are perfect so set out for a little jaunt to the super market, head free of work, of uni and of those deadlines that make me squirm in my seat every time I think of them. Yet, When I get back home all I can think is how much time I’ve wasted and how much work I might’ve managed otherwise.
Its second most popular form is Game of Thrones. I don’t mean the series, I mean the book. It’s deliciously addictive. Even now it’s perched atop the arm of my sofa calling out to me and how I wish I could answer, how I wish I could go to it and wedge my nose firmly between its pages as my eyes devour each word that passes before them.
It makes me want to hate George R.R Martin, how dare he give Procrastination such an effective weapon to wield against me, how dare he place such power in the hands of the enemy.
Yet, in spite of my anger I nearly always relent. I can’t remain angry, not when the story has yet to conclude and if it wasn’t Game of Thrones that tempted me so surely Sense and Sensibility or Seventh Scroll or Pride and Prejudice and Zombies would be yelling out from the shelf they call home.
Yet there is something ever worse than Game of Thrones, something worse than taking a walk. There are times that no matter how much Procrastination tried to trick me I can plead the defence of laziness; “oh no, not today, I can’t be bothered to go for a walk, I can’t be bothered to get up and open my book.”
But it is in these times of almost victory that Procrastination brings out its deadliest tool, it says to me; “so you don’t want to go out, you don’t want to walk across the room and get your book? Then how about this? You needn’t even move.” And before I know it Pottermore is on the screen.
The wonderfully detailed creation of J.K Rowling and Sony that opened to the general public earlier this month. It seems even Procrastination knows of my soft spot for Harry Potter. The taunting is unbearable, I hear Procrastination laughing at me as my defiance crumbles, I feel the shame of having lost once again, none of which is helped by the fact that my beloved Ravenclaw house has been knocked down to third in the House Cup.
And now it seems I must add a fourth to that list because Procrastination has just tricked me from transcribing an interview to writing a blog post.
But alas, the only option is to battle on.