I have a love-hate relationship with procrastination. I loooove to wait until the last minute to do anything important. I must love it, because I do it ALL the time. And then about midway into my marathon of catching the hell up, I hate that I procrastinated.
It’s almost like an addiction; the intensity of waiting until the last minute. Thrill seeking behavior, I suppose. I make excuses to myself like I work better under pressure. Honestly though, since I always do it to myself, I don’t know what doing things in a timely manner is like. I wait until the last minute, crank out something semi-successful and think, “see how well this method works?”
Maybe I do it because it eliminates indecision. Like I have no time to sit around weighing which adjective to use because my deadline was ten minutes ago. Without that filter of self doubt, I’m less apt to hold myself back.
In this way, procrastination feels like my friend. It brings out some of my best stuff. It helps me see things more clearly. And it gives me a total high when I make the last minute deadline. It feels way more badass to pull it together right at the last second than to finish early. Like I’m defusing a bomb on television. No one diffuses the bomb with 20 minutes to go.
I can’t help but wonder if I am helping myself or lying to myself though. Because procrastination hasn’t exactly made me successful. It seems like another method of avoiding success. Maybe procrastination is really my enemy, holding me back, tricking me into thinking it’s my idea.
Emily is an aspiring author writing about everything from fairytales to serial killers with a few published short stories, but one day… So, for now, until she has a newsletter and all that fancy jazz, connect with her here. ❤