Procrastination And Me…

Imagine.   We’re sitting in a circle in an all-white room, with high ceilings, and perched on too-hard, grey plastic chairs that cut off the circulation to your bum. My right hand is held high above my head, palm showing: “Hello.   My name is Fhina, and I’m a Chronic Procrastinator!” Hell, I’ve even been putting off writing this piece!    Don’t laugh! I’m good at putting myself down, and making others laugh at my hapless and hilarious misfortunes, and I’m horribly good at putting things off, because I’m far too busy doing other “stuff”! Work, life, other people’s problems.   You ask me, and I’m there, scrabbling around in the dreck and drift, beating myself up for not doing enough, not being enough;   Sending myself into paroxysms of frustration, because I’m perennially running out of time. Of course, there’s a frisson, when I’m up against a deadline.   I thrive on the adrenaline, and feel I am performing at my peak when I’m sweating it a little, rattling through words, keying in statistics…

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