I'll Do It Later
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It's after midnight, and still I'm sitting here in front of this computer screen. Another paper is due in the morning, and once again I've managed to put it off until the last possible minute. I read a book once that said people procrastinate because they like the rush they get from having to perform under pressure. I can't imagine how a person would come to a conclusion like this. It's ridiculous. This feeling isn't a rush of excitement by any stretch. It's more like torture, actually.

I can't concentrate because of the sound of the TV behind me. Yet another sad attempt to jump on the bandwagon of reality television: a bunch of middle-aged women with issues, shoved into a house together, all for the sake of bettering themselves. How inspiring. It's no wonder they're playing it so late at night. I, on the other hand, am stuck here in front of my computer, all for the sake of conjuring up an interesting story of my own reality. Maybe I could be more easily inspired if I peeled myself out of my swivel chair and turned off the television, but that might ruin the captivating train of thought I have going here.

  
 
Maybe I could write about that squirrel I ran over last week. The last thing I saw was her fluffy tail sticking up like a plume in my rearview mirror. Poor thing. But I guess an animal dumb enough to hop its furry little tail under the wheel of a moving vehicle is bound to die sooner or later. Her sacrifice could have at least given me something to write about. Unfortunately, I don't think there was enough action in that occurrence to make a story out of it too bad.

I hear a noise to my left and look down to see my cat curled up in a ball, sleeping. Cats never have to write papers. I wish I had the freedom to curl up on the floor and go to sleep whenever I felt like it. Then again, cats have to meow for food and meow for water and meow to have doors opened for them. Maybe having to write papers is the price I pay for having a vocabulary that consists of more than the word "meow."

Okay, forget about the cat. I have to concentrate. It shouldn't be this difficult to think of something to write about. At least a few interesting things must have happened in the twenty years I've been alive. Then again, I probably couldn't write a very accurate story of anything that happened to me before age five. So there must be at least a few interesting things that have happened to me in the last fifteen years of my life that I could write about.

Something embarrassing. People love to see other people make fools of themselves. If I could only remember the last time I made myself look like a complete idiot.

Well, so much for that idea. Nothing sentimental that would require too much energy. I have no irrational fears, no near-death experiences, no great adventures, no deeply traumatizing events. I have nothing.

That cat is making me angry. It looks entirely too relaxed. I think I could easily use this keyboard for a pillow and go to sleep right here. How could I have possibly already wasted an hour trying to think of something to write about? I'm too tired to type, and my mind is too befogged to write any type of organized paper. I should have started this paper days ago, but I always think of a reason not to start writing. No matter how many times I tell myself I need to start now, I always find something more important to do.

It's so late, but I have to finish this paper tonight. I have to at least start this paper tonight. I'm too tired to think. Even if I do attempt to write it now, it won't be any good, so maybe it's not even worth trying. Still, it needs to be finished by morning, so I have to get started now. Maybe I can finish it in the morning before class if I just get something started before I go to sleep.

Didn't I read somewhere that people think more clearly in the morning? I definitely remember reading that somewhere. That settles it; I'm going to bed. I'll write this paper in the morning. Maybe I'll have some kind of exciting revelation in a dream. I'll just wake up an hour or two earlier than usual and type it up. No problem. Never mind the fact that it's already a few hours before I'd normally wake up. I'll just file this paper away with my growing stack of last-minute disasters.

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