It turns out procrastination is not typically a function of laziness, apathy or work ethic as it is often regarded to be. It’s a neurotic self-defense behavior that develops to protect a person’s sense of self-worth.
You see, procrastinators tend to be people who have, for whatever reason, developed to perceive an unusually strong association between their performance and their value as a person. This makes failure or criticism disproportionately painful, which leads naturally to hesitancy when it comes to the prospect of doing anything that reflects their ability — which is pretty much everything.
But in real life, you can’t avoid doing things. We have to earn a living, do our taxes, have difficult conversations sometimes. Human life requires confronting uncertainty and risk, so pressure mounts. Procrastination gives a person a temporary hit of relief from this pressure of “having to do” things, which is a self-rewarding behavior. So it continues and becomes the normal way to respond to these pressures.
Particularly prone to serious procrastination problems are children who grew up with unusually high expectations placed on them. Their older siblings may have been high achievers, leaving big shoes to fill, or their parents may have had neurotic and inhuman expectations of their own, or else they exhibited exceptional talents early on, and thereafter “average” performances were met with concern and suspicion from parents and teachers.
…oh. This explains a lot.
|—||Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray.|
|—||Warsan Shire (via sadsapling)|
Her enthusiasm though. Yes.
When he sleeps,
the snoring does not bother me:
the rhythmic growl, gravel shoved
across the sidewalk of his throat.
It is the grasping, desperate way
in which he takes in air—his gulping lungs
as if every dream is filled with water
and he is trying to inflate
the life jacket under his skin.
I babble in my sleep. He believes
I am trying to tell him how my heart works,
says he will translate the manual one day.
I want to ask him: am I the ocean?
Are you drowning in everything
I don’t say when I’m awake?
|—||Emily Heist Moss, “A Letter to the Guy Who Harassed Me Outside the Bar” (via executiveproducerdickwolf)|
|—||Arundhati Roy, The Algebra of Infinite Justice (via loveyourchaos)|
Yesterday I went up to the moon and yelled at him
for stealing all my sunshine
and he laughed at me with twinkling eyes
and a cheshire smile
and told me to look inside my mother’s closet.
I dug up the dregs of DNA files listed as classified—
they were in a wall safe behind the skeletons—
secrets written in chromosomes and protein signatures
that told me I would die in a vicodin-induced
blue blanket - Andrea Gibson