Lists About Procrastination

Sometimes I can be really good at procrastinating.


Like, very, very good at it.


And then I’ll feel bad about it, but I’ll keep on procrastinating.


It’s only natural for a high school student like me, right?


I’ve learned are plenty of ways to convince myself that I’m not procrastinating. I’m just doing “other stuff.” Stuff like:

Reading fan fiction

Reading the news

Reading blogs

Reading shampoo bottles

Watching YouTube

Watching a movie

Watching a spider crawl across the ceiling

Writing stories

Writing poems

Writing a novel

Writing something for this blog

Writing about how much I hate high school


Pretending to sleep


Hanging out with my friends

Playing with my sister

Thinking about life

Thinking about how I should stop procrastinating



I’ve also amassed quite a collection of excuses for procrastinating.


Usually I’ll say something like:

I have a headache.

I’m tired.

I’m eating.

I’m sleeping.

I’m talking with Anna about something really important.

I need to watch Tyler Oakley’s new video.

This isn’t due for another two days. I can do it tomorrow.

I can finish it tonight.

There’s plenty of time left.

I’m trying to kill the spider on my ceiling.

I have to go to Beth’s house. It’s important.

I finished all my homework yesterday (not at all).

I don’t have any homework today.

I have to fix my car.

I first have to go buy a car.

Just kidding, I need to go get my license.

I need to fix my hair

I need to fix my face.

I need to get a life.


It’s pretty bad.


And amidst all this procrastination, what I should really be doing is:

Finishing my homework

Studying for that calculus final coming up on Tuesday

Getting ahead on the history project

Writing my English essay

Reading Shakespeare

Taking out the trash

Doing the laundry

Cleaning my room

Preparing for my internship interview

Looking for a job

Studying for SATs

Learning Spanish

Learning physics

Learning how to get into college

Learning how to not procrastinate


High School is Not Pretty

When I was younger—around the time I first started grade school, give or take a few years—I thought that high school was going to be magical: large, sprawling campus; beautiful buildings; and spacious classrooms. But then again, at that age, I thought everything was going to be magical. Unfortunately, nothing was magical, and nothing was ever going to be magical, least of all a high school campus.

On the first day of freshman year, I walked towards the main building, which looked ancient and, frankly, seemed like it was about to fall apart. The originally white (now it was more of a pale brownish-yellow color) paint was scratched, there were cracks all along the outer walls, and chunks of the red brick roof were now on the ground.

I hesitated outside the front entrance (the dark green paint here was also scratched and peeling), scared that if I pulled open the door, it would somehow cause the entire building to collapse. Kind of like in Jenga, when you remove that final block that determines the fate of the rest of the structure.

Luckily, I didn’t have to make a choice, because right at that moment, someone from behind shoved me forward and pulled open the door. The main hallway was crowded with students who somehow all managed to be at least a foot taller than me. (Some where sitting down against the wall, but I could just tell that when they stood up, they’d be like eight feet tall or something.) The lighting was terrible: it was very dim, and one light was flickering like in a horror movie. Like, thank you very much—high school is already terrifying enough without that extra horror movie feel to it.

I grumpily weaved my way in and out of the mass of students, some of which were running back and forth playing some ball game, others who were just chatting, and even a couple who was having an extremely explicit make out session in the corner. Lovely. I was supposed to be going to room 42, which was my first period English class, but all I had managed to accomplish was getting lost in this not-even-very-big school. (Now that takes some skill.)

Finally, after about seven minutes of wandering back and forth between the broken and stained white walls while trying to convince myself that I wasn’t in a horror movie (it was too loud for any phantoms to be around anyways), I finally gathered up the courage to ask someone for help. Of course, that was when the bell rang, and everyone else scrambled off to class, seeming to know exactly where they were going.

Well this was going to be a pleasant four years.