I am sure, the title of the post will find a few takers! Don't you just always reach a point in life where you feel you've missed out on so much just because you were too lazy? Somehow, I think about it everyday. I would like to believe that I'm an organized person, but I am definitely a chronic procrastinator. I just keep putting off things. I make deadlines and never stick to them, and so much so, that it reaches a point when I just stop trusting myself. For example, I know I won't ever wake up at 6 am, yet I will religiously set the alarm and snooze it very morning. It's just become so instinctive.
Infact, I've just realized that I have the innate ability of wasting time doing nothing. I can sit for hours on end thinking about things, or thinking about thinking about things! And ofcourse, so much time I waste just staring at my facebook homepage or waiting for a new email.
Recently, I faced the brunt for for my laziness. Out of habit, I postponed the a few important submissions at college. So my infamous HOD(who btw breathes down my throat almost everyday!) took my case! All the procrastinators out there, I am sure you understand my plight! Right below is an extract from an Ogden Nash
poem, for people like me! Which obviously is one of my favorite poems! Happy Reading! :)
'Procrastination is All of the Time'
Torpor and sloth, torpor and sloth,
These are the cooks that unseason the broth.
Sloth and torp, slothor and torp
The directest of bee-line ambitions can warp.
He who is slothic, he who is troporal,
Will not be promoted to sergeant or corporal.
No torporer drowsy, no comatose slother
Will make a good banker, not even an author.
Torpor I deprecate, sloth I deplore,
Torpor is tedious, sloth a bore.
Sloth is a bore, torpor is tedious,
Fifty parts comatose, fifty tragedious.
How drear, on a planet redundant with woes,
That sloth is not slumber, nor torpor repose.
That the innocent joy of not getting things done
Simmers sulkily down to plain not having fun.
You smile in the morn like a bride in her bridalness
At the thought of a day of nothing but idleness.
By midday you're slipping, by evening a lunatic,
A perusing-the-newspapers-all-afternoonatic,
Worn to a wraith from the half-hourly jount
After glasses of water you didn't want,
And at last when onto your pallet you creep,
You discover yourself too tired to sleep.
O torpor and sloth, torpor and sloth,
These are the cooks that unseason the broth,
Torpor is harrowing, sloth it is irksome-
Everyone ready? Let's go out and worksome.
Infact, I've just realized that I have the innate ability of wasting time doing nothing. I can sit for hours on end thinking about things, or thinking about thinking about things! And ofcourse, so much time I waste just staring at my facebook homepage or waiting for a new email.
Recently, I faced the brunt for for my laziness. Out of habit, I postponed the a few important submissions at college. So my infamous HOD(who btw breathes down my throat almost everyday!) took my case! All the procrastinators out there, I am sure you understand my plight! Right below is an extract from an Ogden Nash
poem, for people like me! Which obviously is one of my favorite poems! Happy Reading! :)
'Procrastination is All of the Time'
Torpor and sloth, torpor and sloth,
These are the cooks that unseason the broth.
Sloth and torp, slothor and torp
The directest of bee-line ambitions can warp.
He who is slothic, he who is troporal,
Will not be promoted to sergeant or corporal.
No torporer drowsy, no comatose slother
Will make a good banker, not even an author.
Torpor I deprecate, sloth I deplore,
Torpor is tedious, sloth a bore.
Sloth is a bore, torpor is tedious,
Fifty parts comatose, fifty tragedious.
How drear, on a planet redundant with woes,
That sloth is not slumber, nor torpor repose.
That the innocent joy of not getting things done
Simmers sulkily down to plain not having fun.
You smile in the morn like a bride in her bridalness
At the thought of a day of nothing but idleness.
By midday you're slipping, by evening a lunatic,
A perusing-the-newspapers-all-afternoonatic,
Worn to a wraith from the half-hourly jount
After glasses of water you didn't want,
And at last when onto your pallet you creep,
You discover yourself too tired to sleep.
O torpor and sloth, torpor and sloth,
These are the cooks that unseason the broth,
Torpor is harrowing, sloth it is irksome-
Everyone ready? Let's go out and worksome.
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