It’s likely that I’ve got a paper coming up, one I don’t care for too much or one that is pissing me off. Maybe it’s a geo lab—something easy enough but laborious (nice) in how tedious the software can get. No real reason to not work on that, but instead let’s say, hypothetically, for the sake of argument, perhaps there was a way to procrastinate without feeling guilty? Let’s hypothesize, just for one single minute, there was something I could do that would be technically productive, but functionally not at all? There’s a few books I have on the go: one for pleasure that I read at night; a couple for class, maybe I’m caught up on one of them. Lying in my bed, or sitting in my chair in my living room, I crack open one of the books for class I’m not caught up on—you could call this one a bit of a lost cause, which makes the whole endeavour even sillier. There’s no way I’m finishing this one before I have to write the term paper; I’ve already resigned myself to an essay prompt for a different book, and I know I’m just gonna bullshit the discussion post. But, nonetheless, here I am. I’ve got a measuring cup filled with a litre of English Breakfast Tea. It’s four in the afternoon, and I don’t have a teapot, so macking back that litre is the best I can do. I’ve got music going—no lyrics—just movie or TV scores, something I can have going that won’t put new words in my brain and lose track of the past three pages I just “read.” The small window by my bed is open, and cold air blows in since I don’t have real ventilation. I love reading, but at the moment it’s a chore, a means to an end in my pursuit of avoiding other work to do. Maybe I’ll get a little ways into it, maybe not, but I got a fuckin nice quilt over my knees and a litre of Twining’s to get through so let’s giver.
