Read three chapters from Sullivan; rewrite last week’s lecture; finish off Siegelmann’s first chapter; fix my cluttered cabinet; decorate at least two pages of my dusty scrapbook; organize my review notes; and so the list goes on. There are a hundred and one chores set for me each day, and I accomplish, none. I get quite a couple of them started, but the day ends with none of them getting finished. It’s not that I lack time. I’ve got much of it, honestly, even more than what I need.

I end the day hating myself for becoming the world’s greatest procrastinator. Given the time that I have, I know that anybody would trade places with me. It’s not that I don’t value time. I frankly don’t know why I habitually put off these important things I need to do. I squirm and curse at the fact that I get older each year, but I can’t seem to come up with any intellectual premise why I ALWAYS procrastinate. I brood over the fact that I feel like a failure at my age, and yet, I nonchalantly bathe in this luxurious tub of procrastination.

I honestly need help. And professional help it must be. I guess I’ll go get myself a shrink tomorrow. Or, perhaps, this weekend.

Anytime within this month. :)