Lucy Butterfield

Procrastination. Such a delightfully elongated word, that even to say it is to do it. Having gazed balefully at the page of a book for a good ten minutes, there comes an inescapable point in the day when we simply must divert our attentions elsewhere. And lo, procrastination was born, and it was good.

This week, I once again confronted a terrifyingly blank word document to do battle with an essay. Tea and cereal within reach, (was there any milk? Of course not. Fool of a Took.) my intentions at this stage were strictly honourable. But to no avail. Sneaky procrastination assaulted me in various familiar forms…

PROCRASTONAP. Madame Procrastonap is the most cunning of enemies to the disgruntled early riser. By 10:30, no amount of nutella-smothered Raisin Wheats could restore my flagging energy levels. Longingly eying my recently vacated bed, I toyed with the idea of a short snooze. I shall wake up bursting with energy and ideas, and… wait … I’m still in my pyjamas? Score.

PROCRASTOSNACK. Sir Procrastosnack can strike without warning at any time of any day. You are sadly mistaken if you think hunger is an obligatory component. It is not.

PROCRASTOPURCHASE. One link to Asos or Topshop left carelessly within reach on the Facebook wall of your second cousin’s friend’s sister initiates a three hour trawl of the online high-street. An impulsive Procrastograb usually ensues. In an attempt to make my browsing seem more profitable and less nonsensical, I once bought an offensively clingy gold unitard to wear for the next bop. Mistake.

PROCRASTEMPLATION. The most ubiquitous of the family, this can last anything from thirty seconds to three days and can occur with or without the influence of social networking. A quick skim through the old newsfeed inevitably leads to lengthier Facebook excursions, where ex-love interests are stalked, appraised and potentially re-contacted.

So beware, my dear readers, of procrastination. Essays may come and go but she will always linger, in your bed, computer, fridge, ready to pounce the moment you start thinking productive thoughts.

Why spend multiple hours working when you could sleep, eat cake or buy stupidly expensive unflattering clothes? These were my thoughts as I finally hauled myself back to 1200 words of pain last night, and once again my bed started to look mighty comfy…