Inescapable Irony

So this morning, instead of grading the last set of exams or baking the last batch of biscotti, both of which desperately need finishing, I decided to take an Internet survey about my procrastination habits.  Doesn't that sound like a delicious distraction?

I scored high on the scale (75th percentile), but that's no surprise.  I'm a terrible procrastinator.  The main reason is that I almost always get away with it.  Ever since grade school, I have been able to churn out high-quality work at the last minute.  It's not my best work, but it's good enough for an A or sometimes a B.  I'm disappointed in myself, but it's such a relief to have the pressure gone that I don't bother to change my pattern of behavior.

Case in point: my class last semester.  I think I read a total of about 20 pages of the textbook, which is many hundreds of pages long.  I never started my assignments until the day before or the day of.  But I was always able to yank something out by deadline time, and it was usually pretty good by my professor's standards.  I ended up with a perfect score, which may be a procrastinating record even for me.

And, if any of you were ever to show up half an hour early for a dinner party, you would probably find the table un-set, dishes piled everywhere, visible clutter on every exposed surface, and me in my pajamas.  Oh, and I'd be picking fights with Rob and trying to blame HIM for the fact that I am genetically unable to plan ahead.  But as soon as the guests walk in, on time or (as a special gift to me) a few minutes late, everything is dreamy and happy and fun -- so fun that I forget all about the part before, and next time we invite friends over, do it all again.

The problem with trying to teach anything: People Never Really Learn.