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The Deadly

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Yesterday, I pulled off a whole-nighter, trying to finish an economics class protect. It’s the same every time, waiting for the last hours of the night to attempt completing assignments. And every time, I regret and self-pity about putting things off until the last minute. Then I tell myself I’ll never do this last-minute cramming again. I feel like I stepped into another realm of adulthood at the moment.

But somehow, every time I do this, I manage to let this happen again. Like a sort of a routine, it drowns me. Like quicksand, like tar, like a whirlpool, procrastination invades by thoughts, infecting every bodily function. Like a fatal computer virus, every thought, every motion, become slow motion until I come to a big STOP. After a while, I feel the clock ticking closer and closer to judgment day. My conscience tells me to wait until the last minute – the last second – until the adrenalin from panic, angst, and anger fuels me to a chaotic process of finishing work. With that, like a bad after taste, the sinking feeling as I pain-stakingly try to finish homework after homework leaves a bitter taste, making mass amounts of energy out of me. But like a ritual, - no – like an addiction, procrastination continues to devour my consciences, like acid melting away at my body, even as I write this essay due, one hour from…

Now.





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