Addicted To Procrastination
So I’ve heard this theory that people can become addicted to procrastination. Here’s a rough rundown of how it works:
- Author-person establishes a deadline
- Said person proceeds to do everything other than that which is productive toward the meeting of that deadline
- deadline approaches
- author gripes about deadline while watching tv
- deadline sneaks closer
- author panics and cleans the refrigerator and that awkward spot between the stove and the counter
- author spends more time stressing than creating
- Deadline smashes author in the face. In a panic-and-caffeine infused delirium, the author gets three hours of sleep a night until making the goal.
- relief from meeting the deadline resembles euphoria.
Lack of initial discipline and misaligned priorities create this problem, but the resulting relief from escaping the deadline is like a near-death-experience. It’s addictive.
And laziness creates drama.
Instead of digging into why chapter six isn’t working, how about going for a beer with friends? We could delve deeper into the main character’s motivation, but wouldn’t we rather watch Anthony Hopkins’ newest monologue on West World?
The vicious cycle is completely, a hundred-percent curable, but it requires discipline. It means you gotta get your ass in the goddamn chair. It means that yes, writing is hard, but if you’re a writer, you already know that. Or, y’know, you could just quit. I mean, do the thing or don’t, right?
I am totally lecturing myself right now.
And I’ll leave us with a few paraphrased thoughts:
One: greatness comes from doing small things the right way every day.
Two: baby better work-work-work-work.