Explain this to me: I’ve known for a week that the day before I left for Houston (which is now *today* — I fly out at 7:30 tomorrow morning, erg) would be crazy busy. So why didn’t I bother to begin frenetic trip preparations until, oh, yesterday?
I’m not whining, just pointing out that I have an uncanny ability to wait until the last minute to do *everything* … even if it’s something as simple as putting on my shoes in the morning or getting my stuff together to take to work everyday. On bigger projects, my procrastination is very nearly the stuff of legends … it has become accepted fact that if I’ve got a big paper due, writing on it won’t commence until I have less than 48 hours to finish it. Is it any wonder it took me nearly seven months to *start* writing my master’s thesis, one weekend to draft half of it, another six months to start writing again, and a couple of weeks to finish it?
I always make excuses, saying it’s the journalist in me that so adores the deadlines, or that I work better under pressure. And I do think both those things are true. I’m just hoping that, as I get older (or, when I have downtime, like when I’m at practicum — as I am now) I’ll be more aware of how much it sucks to be so overwhelmed by a looming deadline.