February 22nd, 2004

Amak Axver

I hereby proclaim myself the King of Procrastination

Sod. It. To. Hell.

I did NOTHING I planned on doing today. NOTHING. Freakin' procrastination is a killer. I WANTED to work, oh how I WANTED to, but that hasn't yet equated into DOING and I'm not sure if it will. If I want that Dux, I better get myself working something QUICK.

Only got six hours sleep last night, that's how hot it was. I woke up at 6:25 and it was far too hot to try to go back to sleep again. So I read some Cardinal Of The Kremlin - I put that down for way too long - then got online, meaning to do work. And meaning and meaning and meaning, all freakin' day long. What'd I do? Made about eighty posts on CF, talked to people, spoke to Lauren for ages as usual, received two phone calls from people I hadn't spoken to in ages (my Grandma and my Grandad) which was good, ate dinner, and ... that was it. No history. No maths. No English. No SOR. Sweet little diddlysquat. I'm trying to work out if this is because of my Internet addiction or my procrastination, and I think it's a combination of both. I had such good intentions when I woke up. Must not squander tonight. Though I'll probably squander about half an hour of it in the shower in ten minutes. Blah.

And the Lorb thy Gob did saith, André, thou shalt worketh, otherwise thou shalt be accursed, and be cast out to where there are orange boxes and purple penguins with banjos, and thine senses shalt receive a great and tremendous assaulting. Lo, thy Lorb hath spake.

Hmm. Anyway. Maybe I should stop writing, go have a shower, and then WORK.

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