On Procrastination

Ah, Saturdays. The reset button for the entire week. I’ve been waiting all week for you, my friend. An extensive list of things to do awaits both me and you today (along with an extensive bucket of clothes to be washed!). Projects, seminars, outings, along with the usual cleaning and sorting…clearly, there’s a lot to be done. Friday night comes and goes with me making little to zero effort in getting a headstart on my work. I’ve got a whole day to do it tomorrow, I tell myself. I’ve repeated this same lie so often you’d think I’d know not to trust myself by now, but somehow I do. Moreover, a good night’s sleep takes precedence over anything else, really, so I go to sleep in peace, knowing full well that I probably shouldn’t have done that. 

Saturday morning. Like most of the world, me and my friends sleep in. At ten past nine, we have oats and chocolate for breakfast (the perks of living without parental supervision, I tell you). I will definitely start working soon. I even get my laptop out of its sleeve to motivate myself further. But first, a little bit of Instagram won’t hurt, surely. Spoiler alert: It definitely will. An hour goes by and I still can’t stop consuming the distant, colourful lives of other people. The world is divided into people who create content out of their real, happening, wonderful lives and the people who watch it all happen from their beds on what could’ve been a productive Saturday morning. Unfortunately for me, I fall under the latter category.  No matter, however. The afternoon lies ahead, empty and inviting. I’ll probably do some work then, and my laptop is still out and switched on so I’m basically a step ahead.  

Dearest Gentle Reader (hi there, Bridgerton fans!), unfortunately for her, this author did not win the battle against an oncoming afternoon siesta, and the sun had already set by the time she woke up. By then she had no choice but to complete the routine daily tasks she had been putting off all week, and somehow ended up spending the better part of an hour shaping her nails and painting them, in an effort to do something productive. And now dinner-time has come and gone and she has no choice but to rely on Sunday, that fleeting mistress, to bring her up to task with the ever-looming threat of Monday hanging over her head. Feeling slightly nauseous thinking of all the work before her, 

Yours in slight panic, 

Sneha.