Procrastination Update

I have four essays due in on Monday. I have now completed two of them. The other two I have done 1000 words each for and typed up all the references I'm going to use - which is the most boring job in the world. You have to get all the commas and full stops in the exact right place...
e.g.
This is right:
Bradley, L. and Bryant, P. (1978). Difficulties in auditory organisation as a possible cause of reading backwardness. Nature. 271, 746-747.

This is wrong:
Bradley, L. and Bryant, P. (1978). Difficulties in auditory organisation as a possible cause of reading backwardness. Nature, 271, 746-747.

Spot the difference? NO COS IT’S A FUCKING POINTLESSY PEDANTICALLY TINY COMMA IN THE WRONG FUCKING PLACE. Jesus Wept.

So yeah. I've gone through all that. That's done. It’s on the table. We can sit back and forget about that and just get on and finish those two last essays can't we?

No.

Have you met me? The answer is of course NO.

The procrastination monster lives on in me. He refuses to let me do my work. He will not let me be until I finally beat Him into submission (normally around 4'o'clock in the morning) (Dirty!).

However, he is quite thoughtful. Today he has:
- Let me go and watch a 'departmental video' on Guns, Knifes and Children. Which was very interesting and He knows I fancy the lecturer who runs these video sessions so it was nice of Him to let me see said lecturer.
- Let me go and see 'A Scanner Darkly' at the cinema. Again, very thoughtful as it's a fucking cool movie and He must have also read my diary and knows I could watch Robert Downey Jr read out the phone book and still be awed by his performance
- Made me go and buy some milk from the garage which meant the garage man could allow me to have free pik'n'mix.

Oh procrastination monster. I can't stay mad at you for long. You only want what's best for me don't you? EXCEPT THE 'BEST FOR ME' IS TO GET THESE FUCKING ESSAYS FINISHED BEFORE TOMORROW SO I CAN HAVE MY FUCKING LIFE BACK.

I hate myself.

I've done all the reading and the note taking and the drafting of these essays. They're all there ready. Ready to be typed up and just done and finished and then I can get on with my dissertation (or just, you know drinking and watching tv). Just type them up Sazz. That's all you need to do. Type. Them. Up. And yet here I am, procrastinating- writing about writing them up - BUT NOT WRITING THEM UP. Just going to get another cup of tea thinking 'ok after this tea, this one now, this is when I will start properly, stop faffing, stop internet surfing, stop finding things to wash up. Just go and sit at my laptop and write up my essays'. Will I? No. I come and write a blog entry. I am physically incapable of getting on with my work. When I spoke to my brother last night he was like 'you have a whole week left to hand them in and you're bothering to do them now?' as I was simultaneously freaking out that I HAVE A WEEK LEFT TO HAND THEM ALL IN AND I'M ONLY DOING THEM NOW. We lead very different lives.

Part of it is sitting in my room, I cannot work in my room. I need my room to be my place to chillax and I need somewhere else to work. The last couple of weeks I have gaily walked into the library every day to be an old-skool geek and draft these essays with pen and paper. Which I did. AND NOW I JUST NEED TO TYPE IT UP PROPERLY. It seems to help if I leave my room as I have much much higher chances of running into cute boys (I rarely trip over such creatures in my room). (Sadly). The rewards of the cute boys seem to motivate me into doing work. Unless I speak to one of them like I have done the last two Monday's in a row and find myself daydreaming about 6 foot tall Greeks that are probably a bit too old for me. But I still manage to get work done even then eventually. And yet now I can't. Today, I haven't left the house all day so I have nothing and noone to daydream about. But I can't get on and finish off these essays. Why why WHY?

I keep thinking of that bit in Office Space where Berg from Sex in the City (I can't remember his name in the film) is telling Dr Cox from Scrubs (I can't remember his name in the film) what his daily output of work is as they are assessing who in the office can be fired. By this point in the film Berg has stopped giving a fuck and doing things like turning up at his desk to gut the fish he caught earlier in the day. Therefore he is brutally honest in his self-assessment. He informs Dr Cox that generally his routine consists of him always being at least 20 minutes late and taking the back stairs to get to his desk so he isn't caught wandering in late by his boss, then he takes an hour or so to sit at his desk and just 'zone out' so it looks like he's doing something but really he's just, you know, zoning out. Berg concludes he probably does 15 minutes of real work, in total, per week. Yes. That's me. That's my life. I do that. I am that person.

This is my life. It hurts my soul.

In order to put off DOING THESE DAMN FREAKING ESSAYS TYPE UP THE ESSAYS DO IT DO IT NOW I'm finding things to worry about. When did I eat all those rice cakes? Didn't I buy them yesterday? When did I become a rice cake fan? They taste of ricey cardboard. How can you eat so many rice cakes? There's rice cake dust on top of your television. How does rice cake dust get on someones television unless they are leaving the ricecakes on top of the television? Why are you leaving rice cakes on top of your television? Why have the number of condiments in your fridge started to outnumber the actual proper food you have in the fridge? I currently own; pesto, sweetcorn relish, red onion chutney, light mayonnaise, cherry jam, dolmio pasta sauce. When did you amass such a collection? Are you Edward Norton's character in Fight Club? His condo blew up and all that remained was condiments? Is that going to be you? Does this maybe explain how you can eat so many rice cakes and not remeber doing it? Do you now have multiple personality disorder?

This is my brain. It hurts my soul.

Elsewhere... I love doing my radio show. I havent found anything I love so much since... well ever. I love every aspect of it, choosing the music and planning it out, designing the posters, and maintaing the myspace for it. I actually get to put my music collection to good use and have as a result fallen in love with music again. I didn't realise I'd fallen out of love with it but all relationships get neglected at some point don't they? You just take it for granted that [music] will always be there and you just fall into a familiar routine with [music] without even realising it and before you know it you're cheating on [music] with slutty [sitcoms] just to add some excitement to your life. But I've rediscovered my love of riot grrl and 80s indie and 60s girl groups - remembering all the things I have loved for years and just stopped listening to - The Fall and Ciba Matto and The Raincoats and The Crystals and Refused and The Slits. When and where and why did these things fall out of my life? How and who and what happened to make that happen?

The only thing is - the other radio station people hate me. Well not all of them. A couple like me I think. They compliment my show and say 'hi' when they see me. That's encouraging right? The others... not so much. 'Hate-filled looks' might be stretching the truth a little but you get the general idea. I seem to have this effect on people. Me and people, we just don't get on.

First eye-stabbing victim of the week

Last night I stayed up later than I have in a while finishing off an essay. When I say 'finishing off an essay' I mean I faffed about looking at different websites and talking to my brother on MSN (choice quote: Me: 'I don't know how to end this piece of shit essay', Brother: 'How about - "So in summary, it was all a bit of a lol"') and watched the latest episode of Never Mind the Buzzcocks online (sidenote: Amy 'Wino' Winehouse kicks ass. She is so funny and sassy and you know I love me some sass). (Further sidenote: Chloe reckons that Amy Wino looks like a cross between me and our housemate Marianna, I can tell you now that if Marianna and I ever DID breed then that would be the coolest fucking kid E-V-E-R. But it's unlikely to happen as my life is not an ill-conceived Arnold Swartzenegger vehicle co-starring Danny DeVito and Emma Thompson). (Sadly). So anyway, there was a point to this OH YES... I stayed up uber late basically faffing (faffing and procrastination are the two things in life that I really excel at. I am trying to think of a job that requires both of these skills but draw a blank everytime as, in all honesty, most bosses just want to get on with doing the actual fucking job they've hired you for and not spending as much time as possible writing out a to-do list of all the things you are meant to be doing and colour coordinating that with miniture post-its that correspond to your folders). (For example) all because I thought I was going to get to have a lovely long sleepy today till the afternoon. Because that's when the gas man was coming to fix our crumbling house of mank's heating. I checked it. I know I'm crap with time but I checked. The gas man said he would be coming on Monday afternoon. I know that because I was slightly upset that I might not be at the library at the time on a Monday when I have seen my crush on the past two Monday's. I asked if anyone else if the house was going to be in on Monday afternoon so I could go to the library and maybe speak to my crush again ALL BECAUSE THE GAS MAN SAID HE WOULD BE HERE ON MONDAY AFTERNOON. I KNOW HE SAID IT I CHECKED IT ON THE PIECE OF PAPER HE GAVE ME THAT SAID HE WOULD NEXT BE HERE ON MONDAY AFTERNOON.

You catch my drift.

Guess what time the gas man turns up?

10am.

Am I happy?

No.

Some Kind of Wonderful

I've uncovered something quite interesting recently that may well rock your world to its very core...

- if you leave your house more than once a week and INTERACT with other people you actually have more to talk about than the characters on the, now defunct, mid 1990's teen drama 'My So-Called Life' that you may have downloaded in a fit of 'remember when plaid and baggy clothes were fashionable?' nostalgia. [see also - Clarissa Explains It All, Blossom]

It shocks and astounds you doesnt it? In much the same way that you felt after finding out Geoffrey from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air 'fame' was now 'starring' in Eastenders. "Really? No! But... Oh wow! It's true!"*

Now, having said all that, this evening I've actually missed out on leaving the house and getting the chance to see LIVE! IN THE FLESH! SCREECH FROM SAVED BY THE BELL! ALIVE! IN MY UNION! (Sorry, I had the volume on this turned up. Sorted now.) to do dog sitting instead. Yes. Screech. From Saved By The Bell 'fame'. As fabulous as it would have been to be in the same room as him while he stood on a stage feeling quite visibly uncomfortable/coked-up-to-

the-eyeballs-and-as-a-result-unbearably-smug [delete as applicable] whilst taking questions from drunk students and trying to figure out where his life went wrong exactly, I can't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, I made the right call.

Despite me missing out on the Screech 'experience' here are some fun facts and figures about him that you can read about and share with your friends/acquaintences for nostalgia-based-conversation starters (I have also included some of my own opinions on these facts and figures to help get the conversations underway):
- His real name is Dustin Diamond. If you meet him why not refer to him as "Mr Double D's"? Not only would this nickname be factually accurate (unlike, for instance, my new nickname 'Pooky') but it is also an amusing way to refer to a ladies bosom. And who doesn't want to get the image of Screech and voluptuous breasts inexplicably linked in their minds?
- He has featured in the David Spade vehicle "Dickie Roberts: Former Child Star" which I have watched from beginning to end. (I make no apologies for the way I choose to live my life). (I just spend an inordinate amount of time crying about it). Verdict - not as good as "Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit" but better than "Deuce Bigalo: Male Gigalo" from the 'films with colon's to seperate title from sub-title' genre.
- He has been declared bankrupt. I have no real opinion on this and it's just broad speculation anyway. I don't even know for certain that it is a 'fact' as such. I could look it up. I'm not going to.
- He has a really big penis (according to a Howard Stern show transcript I was lucky enough to read. I also found out that Fez from That 70s Show is similarly endowed from the same source).
- He was brought in to Saved by the Bell: The New Class to try and improve ratings but for some reason felt compelled to speak in a very odd voice and gurn a lot thus reducing much of the 'geeky charm' (read: subtle mental disorder) that had made the character of Screech such a winner in the first place. Plus the undertones of a homoerotic relationship between himself and Mr Belding made me slightly uncomfortable.
Evidence: Wasnt he like, Mr Beldings 'assistant'? Had Mr Belding ever had an assistant before? If he really genuinely required an assistant would he really have hired someone who, not only wore jazzy shirts, mismatching slacks and colourful braces, but was also way over-qualified for the job in the first place? (he had a degree! he was a nerd! he was named validictorian of his graduating high school class but gave up the title to Jesse Spano as it meant more to her! this isn't someone that was on track to being a principal's assistant in the very high school where all these things happened originally) Added to that, even if you can get past the unlikely hiring situation, he was consistantly incompetant in the job role so would have almost immediately been fired anyway. That is unless Mr Belding was sleeping with Screech or Screech's mother. Think about it. I know I do. Constantly.

*Please Note: If you are the sort of person that speaks in sentences that only end with exclamation points then I kind of hate you and wish you would die.**
** I realise this is a bit rich coming from someone who uses 'quotation marks' to place 'empathsis' on more 'words' than she really 'should'.