18.1.07

Procrastinator

There is a book I should be writing. It's languishing on my desktop behind this window. I am procrastinating. At this very moment I should be finding a way to get from one sentence to another, advancing my plot. Instead I do this. This work is unimportant, thus much easier and much more fun. There's a kind of adolescent pleasure in avoiding that which must be done.

I have always hated to do the necessary work. I have always put it off to the last possible moment - if I did it at all. In sixth grade I started putting off doing my homework. I would lie to my mother and say I was doing my homework while I read in my bedroom. Just before bed I would do one assignment - the one due first thing in the morning. Then I would systematically and surreptitiously do each assignment during the class immediately preceeding the time it was due.

By high school, I had given up homework. I had almost given up school entirely. I studied only the night before a test and then only very late at night. Then I mostly gave up studying. I never had any kind of educational discipline. This has carried over to my adult life. I don't want to do it. Not that I don't want to write the book, I just really wish there was some way that I could extract it from my head in some way other than typing one word after another.