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2004-04-30

Procrastination is a weird headspace to be in. The singular drive to not be doing whatever it is you�re supposed to be doing warps your perspective, magnifying everything around you to a distorted state of hyper-fascinating detail � �Dear God, what is that under my fingernail? I must know, I SIMPLY MUST!� � like some bizarre psychosomatic acid trip. The minutiae of daily life become irresistibly alluring simply through the fact of their being not what you�re avoiding, as your mind desperately gropes for any distraction from its looping litany of self-recrimination and self-indulgence. Deadlines come and go like ebbing tides as you painstakingly construct a miniature replica of St Paul�s Cathedral out of paperclips and Post-It notes, frenziedly detailing tiny ballpoint frescoes like Rain Man on PCP.

This leads me to theorize that I could actually be a productive, dedicated, hard-working person, if only I could fool my brain into believing that my duties were just time-wasting frivolousness. I mean, I do believe that, essentially � my highest aim in life is to lie on the couch as much as possible � but clamouring supervisors and frantic e-mail reminders tell me otherwise. If somehow I could brainwash myself with a series of reverse-psychology commands, I�d be the most productive person on the planet: �Robin, whatever you do, do not finish that priorities report. There�ll be time enough for that kind of nonsense when you finish doing a Google search for �monkey tube sock arthropod� as ordered. And don�t forget to sort all your highlighters by colour and length. Now get cracking!�

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