Years have passed and I remain the same. Proof? Here I am, writing a thesis on Chaucer's misogynistic tendencies in his handling of medieval courtly love in "The Book of the Duchess." The paper's not the problem; the nearness the due date for the paper is the problem. I don't even have an outline yet. I actually began lamenting my plight several days ago. And I'm no closer to the outline.
I'd hoped I'd eventually stop procrastinating. All I wanted was to be magically transfigured into a diligent, self-discipline academic wunderkind. Is that too much to ask?
Apparently so.
Self-discipline looked at me like a high-school cheerleader looks across the room at the school geek, blowing a kiss at him and winking brassily, taunting him and reminding him of her unattainability. There's self-discipline, that saucy wench, insolently reminding me that she and I can never be together. She turns and saunters out of the room, hanging amorously on the arm of some straight-A student. Yeah, that's right, just go. I've got caffeine anyway.
The irony of the fact that I'm writing this, rather than the paper, is not lost on me... Back to thesis crafting.