The Procrastinator
pro·cras·ti·nate (pro-kras'te-nat', pre-)
v. pro·cras·ti·nat·ed, pro·cras·ti·nat·ing, pro·cras·ti·nates
v. intr.
To put off doing something, especially out of habitual carelessness or laziness.
v. tr.
To postpone or delay needlessly.
v. pro·cras·ti·nat·ed, pro·cras·ti·nat·ing, pro·cras·ti·nates
v. intr.
To put off doing something, especially out of habitual carelessness or laziness.
v. tr.
To postpone or delay needlessly.
I am a procrastinator, like my father before me.
A postponer. A cunctator.
I take an assignment or a task which I know needs be done with haste, and I wait until the very last moment, which sometimes is far too late.
I delay. I deny.
And the reason for this is my pride and my egotism.
My narcissism and my arrogance...
My tragic flaw.
Enter exhibit "A": I have attended Johnston Community College for one semester. I registered for classes on literally the very last legal day to do so. I was not picky, so my lack of class choices were not evident to me at the time.
In signing up for the next semester of classes, I was given the privilege to sign up a full month before the new students could, giving me not only a wider variety of classes, but a wider window of opportunity for signing up in the first place.
The last day for signing up and paying for classes was two days ago. And have I even asked if I can still register? Of course not...and I probably never will.
My mother even asked me if I had registered, and what else could I tell her but, "Yes, of course I have." I have a problem, and it is about time that I, Cody Nicholas Walker, son of Raymond, admit it.
There is no doubting it. Something is seriously wrong with me. And it is a direct result of the recurring belief in my own mind that I am something special; that the rules do not apply to me, as they told Thomas A. Anderson.
But still, I do not wholly believe that my problem lies completely in the confines of my ego. There must be more, because in my heart and in my logical mind I knew that I had to register or I would have no classes. I knew that just as I know the grass is green and the sky is blue.
And this is where the definition of procrastination comes in. They define it not with vanity, but with carelessness and laziness, which I believe is 90% of the problem. My ego is only what I use to rationalize my own laziness in my head, to make myself feel better. And so I come to another movie realization: it's not that I'm lazy, it's that I just don't care.
I don't care whether this world remains rolling upon its axis when the sun rises in the morning. I don't care why innocent people die and the guilty so often buy freedom. I just simply don't care, because I am losing grip of things to care about. I don't even care about my own life. So is it self-sacrificing of myself to jump in front of a bullet meant for another person if it is only because I care so little of my own death?
Now don't misinterpret these words. I am certainly not suicidal. I just simply need some tangible proof that there are things big enough in this world that are still worth caring for, and if there is ever a chance that by caring for them they become constants once more.
And that, my readers, is what I worry about. That, one day, I will not worry anymore.
That, one day, I truly and completely stop caring.
That, one day, I give up.
Too often one person tries to change the world. He tries and he tries and he tries, and it is a difficult path. But after so long, after so much pain and worriment, nothing has changed. Nothing is better. So he gives up, and when he does, everyone loses a little bit...
And that is all that keeps me going.
A postponer. A cunctator.
I take an assignment or a task which I know needs be done with haste, and I wait until the very last moment, which sometimes is far too late.
I delay. I deny.
And the reason for this is my pride and my egotism.
My narcissism and my arrogance...
My tragic flaw.
Enter exhibit "A": I have attended Johnston Community College for one semester. I registered for classes on literally the very last legal day to do so. I was not picky, so my lack of class choices were not evident to me at the time.
In signing up for the next semester of classes, I was given the privilege to sign up a full month before the new students could, giving me not only a wider variety of classes, but a wider window of opportunity for signing up in the first place.
The last day for signing up and paying for classes was two days ago. And have I even asked if I can still register? Of course not...and I probably never will.
My mother even asked me if I had registered, and what else could I tell her but, "Yes, of course I have." I have a problem, and it is about time that I, Cody Nicholas Walker, son of Raymond, admit it.
There is no doubting it. Something is seriously wrong with me. And it is a direct result of the recurring belief in my own mind that I am something special; that the rules do not apply to me, as they told Thomas A. Anderson.
But still, I do not wholly believe that my problem lies completely in the confines of my ego. There must be more, because in my heart and in my logical mind I knew that I had to register or I would have no classes. I knew that just as I know the grass is green and the sky is blue.
And this is where the definition of procrastination comes in. They define it not with vanity, but with carelessness and laziness, which I believe is 90% of the problem. My ego is only what I use to rationalize my own laziness in my head, to make myself feel better. And so I come to another movie realization: it's not that I'm lazy, it's that I just don't care.
I don't care whether this world remains rolling upon its axis when the sun rises in the morning. I don't care why innocent people die and the guilty so often buy freedom. I just simply don't care, because I am losing grip of things to care about. I don't even care about my own life. So is it self-sacrificing of myself to jump in front of a bullet meant for another person if it is only because I care so little of my own death?
Now don't misinterpret these words. I am certainly not suicidal. I just simply need some tangible proof that there are things big enough in this world that are still worth caring for, and if there is ever a chance that by caring for them they become constants once more.
And that, my readers, is what I worry about. That, one day, I will not worry anymore.
That, one day, I truly and completely stop caring.
That, one day, I give up.
Too often one person tries to change the world. He tries and he tries and he tries, and it is a difficult path. But after so long, after so much pain and worriment, nothing has changed. Nothing is better. So he gives up, and when he does, everyone loses a little bit...
And that is all that keeps me going.
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