The misunderstood beauty of Procrastination

Procrastination is a beautiful thing.

Quit rolling your eyes! I am *not* rationalizing. It’s true. If I weren’t exceedingly accomplished in the fine art of procrastination, I’m not sure where I’d be. When I think of all the wonderful things that procrastination has done in my life, I just get all teary-eyed. Sniff.

Okay, maybe I am going a bit overboard, but it’s true that I’ve learned a lot of very useful skills from being a procrastinator. What are these skills, you ask me? Well, since you’re so interested, my loyal audience, let me share with you. In fact, I’ll even put these useful skills in bulleted-format, to make it easier for you to read. No, no, no need to thank me. I’m just helpful that way.

  • I know how to prioritize. Without procrastination in my life, I’d be hopelessly lost in a sea of responsibilities, without any idea where to start. Thanks to procrastination, however, I’m very good at assessing my duties and assigning exactly the importance they deserve.
    • Example: I was a latch-key kid from the age of eleven on. I know exactly how long a task will take me. Nobody understands the true value of time like someone who leaves EVERYTHING until the last minute. As a teenager, I knew that if I started putting the dishes away ahead of schedule, I had a tendency to linger. However, if I waited to start putting the dishes away until I heard the sound of one of the parental units’ vehicles coming up the driveway…weeell, it’s absolutely amazing how fast your hands can move when your adrenaline is pumping. I also know that if you take everything that’s out of place in the living room and shove it in a box, and then hide that box underneath your bed, it can look like you spent HOURS cleaning the living room.
      • Note: Procrastination and forgetfulness are a dangerous mix— the Parental Units were rarely pleased when they found boxes of important items/bills/vehicle registrations/tax returns/etc underneath my bed months later.
  • I can multi-task. I’ve proven that I can simultaneously pay my bills on the LAST possible day (over the internet)…while typing out a book review on a book I’ve never read… WHILE making half-hearted conversation with the boyfriend over the telephone. Hah. Beat *that*.
    • Speaking about that review… I’ve learned the tried-and-true method of reviewing a book you’ve never read. Are you ready for this? It’s great. (Note: You have to be a fairly-fast typer, as well as a fairly fast reader.) Okay, here goes:

      • Divide the pages in the book by the minimum amount of pages necessary for the report. (Example: a 200 page book divided by a 10 page review equals 1 page review for every 20 pages.)

      • A page usually fits approximately four or five short paragraphs (double-spaced), give or take. So, dividing that into the pages, that would be about 1 paragraph for every 4-5 pages of book.

      • A paragraph is composed of at least four sentences. So, dividing that into the pages, you must type one sentence for every 1 page. Voila.

        • And Dr. P, if you’re reading this—thank you for my “A’ on _Last Days of the Sioux Nation_. I’m so sorry, but I can’t remember a single thing about that book, even though I turned in a 15 page report on it. It had a pretty cover, though. Wait… I do remember something about the book. I remember thinking that one of the Native Americans on the cover was in very good shape… in fact, I thought he was downright hot. I also remember wondering, very briefly, about whether or not I actually deserved to go to heaven. I mean, there I was, reading this well-written (actually, it was kinda boring) book about the travesty/near genocide done to the Native American population by our nation…. and I was checkin‘ out the abs on a very-dead-dude. In fact, I just found a picture of it on the Internet. I’m sure you can all agree with me. Yes, I’m a shallow little Californian, but you have to admit— but that is one athletic Sioux-guy. Check out his six pack.


  • I’ve learned that somethings can be put off, while others can not. You can talk your way out of late-payment fees on a lot of things. You can even talk your way out of missing jury duty, if you’re persistent enough. You cannot, however, talk a library out of turning you over to the collections agency if your fine is over a certain amount. Librarians are a rather rigid sort. They take their books very seriously. I’ve also learned that putting of returning your library books can cause the late fees to accrue at a horrifically fast rate. Did you know that it’s possible to owe a library over four hundred dollars in late fees? Neither did I… until procrastination taught me that.
  • I’ve learned that you can NOT put off shoveling snow. Putting off shoveling snow allows that beautiful, fresh, fluffy snow to freeze into not-so-beautiful ice, and you end spending the rest of winter clambering over a brownish-mound of ice just to off your front porch. Winter snow becomes a lot less romantic when it becomes winter icky-brown-gunky ice.
  • I’ve learned that you can NOT put off throwing away the carcass of a dead, rotting deer. If you do, maggots will take advantage of your laziness, and set up residence. Would you like details? Well, tough. I think I’m going to share the story of my pet dead deer (Edward) at a later date. Edward was with me for six weeks. He deserves more than a passing mention.

Okay, I’m sure I can go on and on… but you get the point. There’s no way any of you can argue with me— where would I be without the valuable lessons taught to me by procrastination?

Hmm. You know what? I don’t think I want the answer to that question, because I’m pretty sure that the answer to “where I would be” might involve an alternate universe in which my credit is still good, my savings account is full, my bachelor’s degree is already hanging on my wall, and I’m driving a vehicle that DOESN’T have a cracked cylinder head because I put off taking it into the shop. I think I’m depressed now. Sigh.

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Please don’t tell anyone I drink Evil

I love Starbucks.

I love the look of the buildings, the decor inside, the snazzy music that they play… I love the scent of the coffee, I love the friendliness of the employees… And oh, oh, oh, how I love the taste of their coffee. Don’t even get me started on their whipped cream. I’ve been known to damage small children that come between me and my Starbucks whipped cream. I’m crazy about that stuff; heck, I think I’m pretty much feral when it comes to whipped cream. I feel like I turn into some sort of snarling, wild creature at the zoo. This is the Beckyus Greedicus. See her in her natural habit, stalking the defenseless coffee cup. Note the single-minded determination, and the controlled grace as she approaches the coffee counter. This is a true coffee predator. Do not attempt to make the Becky to share in her “kill”. Approaching the Becky whilst she is enjoying her whipped cream is considered extremely dangerous. In the event that you inadvertently approach the Becky during any point of her Starbucks consumption, make slow, non-threatening movements and remove yourself from the area as soon as possible. Ah, Starbucks. How I love thee.

But do you know what? I hate Starbucks. I do. I hate them! I hate the quasi-Italian labeling on their drinks. I feel STUPID every time I start rattling off my combination of favorite tastes. “I’ll have a grande three-pump extra-hot vanilla latte, in a venti cup so that I can get extra whipped cream.” Did you know that the aforementioned drink has almost 700 calories in it, when you factor in the narcotically-delicious whipped cream? Don’t get me wrong; I’m not a calorie-counter, but 700 calories for a drink is a little unbelievable.

I hate the fact that I know the difference between a “three-pump” and a regular vanilla latte. I feel like I’ve sold my soul somehow, to whatever Consumer god it is that oversees all of Southern California. I hate standing in line sandwiched in between those unbelievably-skinny, Nordstrom’s-outfitted, Botox-infested real estate agents. I hate listening to them order their tall, non-fat, no-caffeine, dairy-free Mocah-GreenTea-Frappi-Latte-Whatever. It embarrasses me to be in the same line. It embarrasses me when I have to pull out a five dollar bill in order to pay for my coffee, and that after tipping, I’m only left with a dollar.

Did you know that when I worked at the police department, I drank a Starbucks every shift? Occasionally, one really sleepy days, I even drank two. Now, if we round up to four dollars for every coffee (because sometimes I tip extra), that’s 112 dollars every month (not including the days I had two). I worked at the department for over eight months before I decided to return to school. So, that brings my Starbucks-money-wasting to $896 for eight months…. and I’m SURE that I had some Starbucks on my days off. If you factor in everything (the extra coffees, the few extra weeks over eight months that I worked, and the coffees on my days off) it brings it up to about $1000.

One. Thousand. Dollars. ON COFFEE. And the only thing I have to show for it is some acne on my chin, and some extra cellulite on my thighs. Oh, and I also have an addiction now. Great. I’m an addict.

Starbucks, you (insert foul language). You stole my money, you stole my self-esteem, and you stole my sanity. Even now, as I’m writing this, I’m wondering when I’ll have my next coffee. I can’t get you off my mind. It’s like I’ve joined some sort of cult, and I can’t escape. That’s not coffee you’re selling; it’s concentrated evil. It’s the heroin of the new millennium, isn’t it? Just try one sample… isn’t it good? Would you like another one? Well, you’re hooked now, aren’t you? Stupid Starbucks.