I’m Michael, and I’m a Procrastinator

I have been a procrastinator for 30 years. That is, I have been putting things off since I was a teenager. I don't mean to say that there are things I have put off for 30 years. That would be excessive. It would also mean that I still owed a paper to my high school English teacher.

I suppose it began, at least at first, because I can't always just jump up and do things. When getting dressed and out of the house amounts to an athletic event, slow and methodical becomes a way of life. For that black hole, the one that every house has, that place that nobody ever looks because it's where we put everything we'll get to "someday", I might as well hire a Sherpa and leave cachets of food along the way. And while I hem and haw and do nothing, my subconscious analyzes and plans. Soon enough I "suddenly" think of a new approach to the problem and I’m off and running. And eventually everything gets done. It just takes some time to figure out how.

Worrying about a paper or test in college, or later, about a job interview or meeting, I go over and over it in my mind, reviewing, planning, rehearsing. I plan my library search. I imagine the questions I will be asked. I tell myself that this is good, that I am making progress. And of course since I am making progress I don't really have to start just yet. In the meantime there are other projects to complete, tapes to be made, chapters to read, résumés to send. Everything in its place.

Now I admit that when the time comes to actually do something -- write the paper or study for the test -- I am spurred on by sheer panic. But panic, as the behaviorists and biologists tell us, is after all a survival instinct. It releases adrenaline that allows us sustained physical activity, while at the same time releasing endorphins and things like dopamine that makes staying up until 4 a.m. an adventure. Our brains, stimulated by excessive doses of mocha lattes, are actually able for a short time to retain and recall the necessary information. It is imperative at this time to maintain this state until the test begins. Any interruption, for example sleep, will shatter the gossamer structure upon which this information rests. Besides, if you can't study all night you can't be a college student.

Now you would think that such an experience would serve as a lesson upon the evils of procrastination. Surely, such an experience would cause a person to reflect on the error of their ways and vow never to wait until the last-minute again. And this was just one paper. Finals week was still a month away.

When I was a sophomore in college I took a class in broadcasting law. The class final was a research paper, worth 25 or 30% of our overall grade. And it had to be perfect. Every single error in grammar, punctuation, format -- including notes, would deduct a point from the total grade. Now most of us were busy with other classes and assignments -- along with trying to get as much on-air time as we could -- so no one got a very early start. Except for this one guy. He was overly organized and anal about everything. Probably a young Republican. He finished his paper weeks before it was due. And while the rest of us commiserated about the upcoming deadline and the pressure of finals, he chuckled and flashed his finished paper at us. Definitely a young Republican.

It was the last assignment of a busy week: two exams, a writing final, and two production finals. The paper was due the Friday of finals week. Five o'clock sharp. Fifteen page minimum. Any paper less than 15 pages, or turned in after 5 p.m. on Friday afternoon, would not be accepted. No exceptions, no extensions. And I had to turn in two copies. Any paper turned in without a copy would not be accepted.

My plan was to start typing Thursday afternoon. I had the research. I had the case law, the citations, I knew where I was going to start and where I was going to finish. It was really just a matter of putting the words on the paper. But I was exhausted. There was no way I could write a paper Thursday night. I called my professor at home around eight o'clock Thursday night. "I need extension." "I'm sorry Mike, no exceptions, no extensions. Could you get it done if you stayed up all night?" I can still hear myself. "I can't. There's no way." "OK, get some sleep and get an early start tomorrow morning." "I'll do the best I can." "I won't expect to see you before five."

I started typing at 6:30 in the morning. Thank God my parents had given me an electric typewriter. If you're going to procrastinate, you've got to have your own hardware. And I just wrote. My cases were organized according to sub topic. I started with a historical overview. I reviewed the case histories and stated my positions. At some point I think I went to the cafeteria and ate lunch. I wrapped everything up, stated my conclusion briefly, and typed my notes carefully. I grabbed a quick shower, threw on some clothes, and rushed to the communications building to make a copy and turn in my paper.

I got there with 10 minutes to spare. As I approached the copier I saw the sign: copies five cents/page. My heart stopped. My wallet was back in my room. There was no time. I went out into the hall. Deserted. Then I saw someone from my copywriting class. I caught him just as he got to the door. "Hi! Uh, I need a huge favor. I need to copy my law paper and I don't have any money. I can pay you tomorrow. I just need a couple bucks. Can you help me?" He laughed a little and gave me three dollars. I'm sure you're guessing that by this time it was only minutes until the five o'clock deadline. The girl behind the counter didn't seem to be taking her job very seriously. One of the strongest memories I have of college is telling her that the paper had to be done and turned in by five o'clock. She glanced up at the clock on the wall and said, "Well it's going to be late." "It can't be late," I said. She stapled the papers -- 18 pages by the way -- and I dashed to the radio TV department. My professor was standing in the doorway. As I handed him my copies he glanced up at the clock. "Glad you could make it." "Me too," I said.

Later, when we picked up our papers and grades, we all compared notes, as only those who have shared a trauma can. I learned that the perfectly organized guy had gotten a 90 on his paper. I was heartsick. If he hadn't gotten a perfect score, being so organized and done ahead of time, what hope could I have of a decent score? I figured I'd be lucky to get a 65. I picked up my paper and turned to the last page, noticing only a few red marks in the body of the paper. There at the end of the last page in red ink was circled my score. Eighty-seven. Wrote the thing in one day and got three points less than the highest score in the class. Validation. What the psychologists call positive reinforcement. Not to mention the admiration of my peers. "Dude! Eighty-seven!" It was like I was some kind of hero. To which I laughed and replied, "Man, I don't think I ever typed so fast in my life."

After that I learned not to worry. However I do it, whatever my brain does, it works for me. Perhaps it is because I am an actor at heart and can improvise extremely well. Whatever. Maybe it's just because my brain is so simple that I can't start something before I finish whatever goes before it. But as the years have gone by I've learned to trust it. I've also learned that the truth is even though I'm not actually doing anything physically I am making progress. Whatever it is, I'm dwelling on it while I'm lying in bed, I'm mulling it over while I wait for the bus, I'm laying out strategy while I'm watching television. It may seem like I'm not interested, or that I'm wasting time. But sometimes, because I don't jump up and start doing something right away, I see things other people don't. An easier way to do something, or a detail no one else noticed. Doesn't mean I'm smarter. Just more careful. Or more afraid of making mistakes. At this point it is a lifestyle. And it works. And yes, I was rewriting this right up until I turned it in.

My name is Michael. And I'm a procrastinator.