Saturday, March 24, 2007
Still Procrastinating...
I got this off Omodudu's page and it's so fun! I like that it's dead-on, despite Omodudu's doubts about its ability to gauge a Naija person. Though why I take so much pleasure in hearing another person tell me what I already know to be true about myself is beyond me...
Sunday, March 18, 2007
The Beginning of the End
I was cross-legged on my couch, half-watching Bridget Jones's Diary 2, half-writing my thesis when I found the loose end of some elastic from the waistband of my underwear. I yanked at it sharply, hoping to break it off and in so doing preserve the integrity of my panties, when I felt it shift a little on my right hip. It was a slightly pleasant sensation, so I kept pulling. As the springy length of string slithered around my waist, I was absent-mindedly intrigued. But the moment the other end snapped against my right palm, I was stung by an epiphany: I can't stop playing around.
We've all been here, more of us than I'd previously imagined. We claim to need the adrenaline rush that is associated with pressure to get our work done. When the work itself does not inspire excitement or the heart palpitations we need, we take matters - and time - into our own hands. We sit back and do nothing but cross days off the calendar, days that could potentially have been spent doing good work, days that would have added up to leisurely reward for a job well done. We tick off those days, and in the meantime we watch TV, write meaningless blogs, have meaningless conversations and attend meaningless parties (if you live in New Haven, you just sit at home and drink beer alone). To the uninitiated observer, we are merely wasting time. But those who have been anointed into the inner circle know that this is merely the ritual, preparation for a time when we will attempt to cram three months' work into the two weeks we have left. We will curse, we will cry, we will not sleep and we will not bathe. We will make false promises never to inflict this punishment on ourselves again, and our ids will snigger, knowing that we will certainly, inevitably fail.
Why, God, am I on Blogger? At least 30 single-spaced pages to go, and I'm only on page 2. It's taken me two days to get here, and I only have 10 days left. This is my thesis. The key to the end of my miserable existence in New Haven and I'm on Blogger. I am dead.
We've all been here, more of us than I'd previously imagined. We claim to need the adrenaline rush that is associated with pressure to get our work done. When the work itself does not inspire excitement or the heart palpitations we need, we take matters - and time - into our own hands. We sit back and do nothing but cross days off the calendar, days that could potentially have been spent doing good work, days that would have added up to leisurely reward for a job well done. We tick off those days, and in the meantime we watch TV, write meaningless blogs, have meaningless conversations and attend meaningless parties (if you live in New Haven, you just sit at home and drink beer alone). To the uninitiated observer, we are merely wasting time. But those who have been anointed into the inner circle know that this is merely the ritual, preparation for a time when we will attempt to cram three months' work into the two weeks we have left. We will curse, we will cry, we will not sleep and we will not bathe. We will make false promises never to inflict this punishment on ourselves again, and our ids will snigger, knowing that we will certainly, inevitably fail.
Why, God, am I on Blogger? At least 30 single-spaced pages to go, and I'm only on page 2. It's taken me two days to get here, and I only have 10 days left. This is my thesis. The key to the end of my miserable existence in New Haven and I'm on Blogger. I am dead.
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