until the last minute.

I have been afflicted with this disease. Although no doctor has diagnosed me officially, I know that I am sick. This illness, procrastination, has always caused me serious health and life problems. No sleep, exhausting days, switching grammar and other clauses, using the wrong words as spell check corrects my lazy typing, not to mention this growing addiction to coffee.

The earliest I can remember of procrastination was in sixth grade when I had my first project ever in the history of my education. It was the infamous A to Z Egypt book all the sixth graders did at my school, where you find something of Ancient Egypt to matching letter, like A for Anubis, B for… something else… and P for Papyrus.

I had put off this project for the entire month it was due. I literally did zero work on it for the four weeks we had to do it—even during the trips to the library, I would find something else to read instead of researching. The night it was due, I started my frantic internet Googling from A to Z. Even enlisting the help of other family members did not hide the truth that I would not be able to get my project done that night. Upon this realization, I decided to take a personal day. My parents, however, shut that idea down pretty quickly. I begged, pleaded and even cried and had a small panic attack on the horror of not turning in my project on the first day. Still, they were resolute, stone monoliths. I cried myself to sleep and woke dreading, apprehensive and resentful the next morning.

As my teacher collected the projects, I feared the moment when he would come to my desk and proclaim judgment and death upon me. But when that moment came, I merely cringed as he looked over me, walking past my empty desk. Was that all? That was my torment, the extent of my punishment? I had begged for my parents’ mercy to be free from that? I came home lighthearted that day, thinking, “That wasn’t so bad.”

And that is when it all started. Procrastination had taken a firm hold on me, had me in its clutches. I realized that I could work hard on the last day to do it or even turn it in late, get a C on the project while receiving an A for the whole class. I wonder what my life would be like now if my parents had allowed me to stay home from school that day…

Because even now, as I write this, it is just another way that I am procrastinating a project.

 

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