Occasionally I surprise even myself at how long I leave it until I start something. Like an essay that's due the next day. Or due that day.
It's like my mind and body are playing a game of chicken with each other. Mind always starts to panic fairly early on in the build up but Body usually refuses to budge until very shortly before the collision.
This very post is being written when I really should be doing something else.
And the fact that we've recently purchased an alarmingly large bronze statue of Samuel Beckett is not helping matters. I'm being stared out of it by the great man and reminded of how much he somehow managed to get done.
I can't stand his judgmental gaze any longer. I'm off to do important things.
Slán go fóíll!
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