Did you know that 62% of essays are written at the last minute? (This is according to statistics and my own massively extrapolated imaginary findings.) Odds are you're procrastinating on an essay of your own right this very second. You. Yes, you. I see you through the screen. You're glancing at the clock and sweating a little bit. Well, I'm not going to stand in your way. Just know that this is a projection of what your life will become over the next few hours.
And trust me, it won't be pretty.
7:00 p.m.: Well there's no way I can write this essay yet. I have to take a shower. I need a snack first. I'm wearing the wrong pants.
8:14 p.m.: I just got out my notebook and other materials, so I think I've earned a solid hour-long break.
9:15 p.m.: I am now wearing the correct pants.
9:17 p.m.: Yes, it actually took me an hour to locate and then don the correct pants. (It's a delicate procedure.)
9:20 p.m.: I should really start this essay.
9:22 p.m.: I should really start this essay.
9:26 p.m.: Like now.
9:34 p.m.: Is there a switch you can flip for motivation?
9:38 p.m.: I'm digging my own grave, and the thing is that I know I'm digging my own grave, and yet here I am, digging away and whistling cheerfully as I do it.
9:43 p.m.: How is it possible to be so stressed about this and yet so nonchalant? I am literally eating a waffle and watching Honey Boo Boo. And it's a recording. It's not even really on. There's no honor in that.
9:45 p.m.: ...I'm still not writing my essay and furthering my life's ambitions. In fact, I'm doing pretty much the exact opposite.
9:47 p.m.: I know what'll get the creative juices flowing: ONLINE TETRIS.
9:56 p.m.: Online Tetris was a mistake. I was about to clear a line but the game ended and I got so angry I had to sit in a quiet corner for a few minutes.
10:10 p.m.: Why did I record Honey Boo Boo?
10:14 p.m.: I hate everything that I choose to be.
10:29 p.m.: It's starting to get funny. I mean, I'm royally screwed. Time's running out. My hopes and dreams are crumbling. I mean, that's funny, right?
10:31 p.m.: I'm going to emerge from the ashes of my utter screwedness and write the BEST ESSAY THAT HAS EVER GRACED THE MODERN WORLD.
10:54 p.m.: This is going to be such a great story one day. It will be the underdog story that will define a generation. This will be Rudy, except with less football and overcoming adversity and more crying into a cake that I just baked in the microwave instead of writing this essay.
10:59 p.m.: I am demolishing my chances of graduating and getting a job and becoming a functioning adult. There's something kind of impressive about doing all of that singlehandedly.
11:07 p.m.: This cake tastes like failure.
11:09 p.m.: I forgot the eggs.
11:18 p.m.: This is the worst underdog story ever. Now I can't even use my fallback option of selling the movie rights, so that's just great.
11:24 p.m.: Why have my Essay Pants forsaken me?
11:34 p.m.: I am Napolean. I saw the Russian winter of my essay procrastination and I went sprinting into battle anyway.
11:39 p.m.: I am the Titanic crashing into the iceberg of academic failure.
11:42 p.m.: I am Batman carrying the nuclear weapon of my essay over the waters of bad grades.
11:44 p.m.: I don't know what I just said. We're at that point now. That's where we are. I should watch YouTube videos.
11:50 p.m.: I have now been procrastinating on this essay for FIVE HOURS. But if you count the time since I received the assignment and casually shoved it to the bottom of my backpack, it's been more like a week. And if you count the time since I was born and my parent's genes bequeathed upon me this personality trait, I've been waiting for this moment my whole life.
11:55 p.m.: I now feel like I'm fulfilling a great destiny.
11:58 p.m.: If stress and sleep deprivation made essay-writing easier, I'd be so golden right now.
12:01 a.m.: Oh my God. It's officially a new day. It's officially tomorrow. So far I've chosen Times New Roman as my font, and my title is "hnnnnnn."
12:10 p.m.: BLEARLHKGARHJGMNAFNMWKWKHJWAAAAHH.
12:14 a.m.: What you just heard was the noise of self-inflicted suffering. That's what that sounds like.
12:15 a.m.: My keyboard is now swimming with the tears of my inadequacy. I don't know how I'm going to explain this to the guys at the Apple store.
12:18 a.m.: Jeez. Okay, I might not have much in the way of motivation, but I sure know how to prolong my misery with the kind of determination associated with the spirit of war.
12:25 a.m.: WRITE. THIS ESSAY. NOW.
12:28 a.m.: Oh my God. Get off Instagram. WRITE THINGS. ANYTHING.
12:35 a.m.: SERIOUSLY. ANYTHING WILL DO. ANY COHERENT SEQUENCE OF WORDS. WE'VE REACHED THAT POINT.
1:48 a.m.: I have now written an introduction. It was the most horrible thing that has ever happened to me.
1:52 a.m.: [WEEPS ANGRILY]
1:59 a.m.: This essay is now moving along.
2:03 a.m.: I will never do this to myself again.
2:12 a.m.: ...I'm probably going to do this to myself again.
2:15 a.m.: I feel like I didn't fully understand the subtle subtext of that Honey Boo Boo episode. Maybe I should re-watch.
AND THUS CONTINUES THE CRUEL, CRUEL CYCLE. Are you a terrible, hilarious procrastinator like Elodie? If you're not, and you're great at finishing things in a timely manner, then please, HELP THE REST OF US.