Procrastination: It's a Love/Hate Relationship

     Procrastination. Just the sound of that word in my head fills me with guilt, and I haven't even put anything off yet! Or have I? Ok, maybe I have one or two things I could be doing, but it's the beginning of the week. I'll have time to do it later. Yes, that's right, I just turned my back burner on, and those two items are safely simmering in the corner of my mind. I'll worry about them later.

     Movies, videogames, out on the town with friends, Twitter, FACEBOOK. We all do it, we just don't like to openly admit our weakness to give into poor, sad, pathetic, whimpering brain pain. We promise ourselves we'll only be out truly enjoying ourselves as long as it takes to get the kinks out of our brain muscles, and then it's back to work. Before long, we realize far too much time has past and now we're REALLY behind in our work!!
     From there on out it's skimming chapters, speeding through quizzes, settling for our inability to find a third source, we'll accept that we have to sacrifice the few points. All in the name of making the deadline. That's such a headache!

     That all-nighter I pulled for homework better be worth it, or that test will kill me. My brain just ran a marathon, I don't think I can take anymore. The walls of my skull are sticky and wet with sweat. My right-hemisphere has carpal tunnel, no more mass-brainstorming tonight. Eight pages of research, got to print it out, I have ten minutes. This printer's out of toner?! I beat the record for fastest 400 meter dash across campus to the next closest printer, and then another record is broken in a 100 meter sprint to class. Collapsing in my seat, the buzzer the bell rings in the last millisecond it takes for my body to give itself completely to the straight-back chair.
     My face must be as red as the blister on my foot. No, no. No fever, just fear. We're all ask to hand in our papers. My fingers quiver with nervousness, my fingertips turn sweaty as mine leaves my possession. I think I left my biological marking of prespiration on my work. Nevermind if my name isn't printed and signed in mechanical blood. She'll know the work is mine when she reads it.