Sometimes I postpone watching television by listening to music beforehand. I know that once the show has ended, the real work will begin; and an hour simply isn’t enough time for me to prolong the inevitable. In other words, I procrastinate my procrastination.
Twiddling thumbs, twirling hair, and twisting thoughts all fill my time as placeholders for things I choose to ignore. Papers. Exams. Fights. Feelings. They all take a backseat to the the things that I can face, the things that make me safe. But along with the things that I use to postpone the hard things in life, there are also things I do to postpone the postponement. But in the end, these deflectors just make me realize all I have to do.
For me, everyday is like a Saturday night. For most people, Saturday night is a time to let loose. Sunday, on the other hand, means working and dreading Monday morning. I’ve never been one who thinks the same way as most people though.
For me, Saturday night is ghastly. Saturday night’s simply make me uneasy. They mean my weekends are nearly over and the tortures of the workweek are soon to come. Just like listening to music gives me a little extra time before watching television and then eventually doing work, Saturday nights put off the Sundays of my weekends.
Saturday’s are like the last chapter of a phenomenal book; exciting to experience, but tragic at the same time because you know you are close to the end. Sometimes I put off reading the last chapter of a book, just to let the experience a little longer. Other times I even reread the same novel multiple times to relive the wonder.
But time is not a book. Books can be paused or restarted, but time cannot unless you are a character in a novel to begin with. And alas, I am not Hermione and I have no Time-Turner to go back to relive specific moments in my life. Much to my dismay, I don’t even have the power to slow it down.
So instead of twisting the sections of my golden necklace, I am forced to make a choice when Saturday night rolls around. Either I sit at home in horror of how fast my weekend has gone by, or I can go out and enjoy it. And I think you know that whatever I chose obviously involves a little procrastination.
Bittersweet Symphony 