On Procrastination

I always like to observe in a detached sort of manner how I suddenly develop an extra ten or so interests whenever a deadline looms on the horizon. And while on the subject of deadlines, I wonder why I still bother creating 'my own deadline' because it is invariably totally flexible and it is impossible for me to stay within the boundaries.
If I've a deadline approaching, the number of trips to a supermarket in a week will quadruple - 'must find the best offers, save money' - and likewise, in a rather contrary position, my visits to the pub will increase as well. I justify not setting an alarm because otherwise I'm too tired to work effectively; it surely is better to get a Good Night's Sleep, wake up refreshed, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Never quite happens like that, because I then end up missing pretty much the entire morning (I have given up recently and decided that mornings just don't exist for anything other than a slow wake up process coupled with GMTV). By the time it gets to two in the afternoon, you've wasted so much of the day that plans are already being formulated to justify setting aside that Full Day Of Work until tomorrow. At about 9pm, assuming there is nothing watchable on television (and what is defined as Watchable becomes increasingly vague as deadlines approach), and there are no plans to pop to the pub, I manage to feel a twinge of guilt and launch into work head-on. Which means I end up being awake until about 2am with a growing feeling of panic, realising how much there is to be done and Dear God, why didn't I just do it three weeks ago. Firm plans are set in place to get up the next day and get on with it, but somehow when that alarm goes at 0730 you forget the enthusiasm of the night before, throw the stupid thing to the other side of the room, and slumber until around 11am. Oops.
You can always tell when I have a deadline because my room is close to immaculate. Books are neatly ordered, clothes folded, pens in the pen pot and not a speck of dust in sight. The justification for all this stems from the general idea that I can't work in a disordered mess and therefore the room MUST be tidy. Hmm. I'll also frequent the gym considerably more than usual - even better if I can get out on the river - with the theory being that I need to release those endorphins tucked away somewhere and then gain enthusiasm out of nowhere for my work.
Although maybe that is an inaccurate description... I am enthusiastic, I am genuinely interested. (So interested I've read every single book in the library, relevant and otherwise, remotely linked to my subject - one can never do enough research, right?). I object to having to form my ideas into a ten thousand word extravaganza that will be scrutinized and analysed and subjected to the glares of superiors making derisory comments. It doesn't actually take that long when I get going, am fortunately a ludicrously fast typist and I never start writing until I know exactly what is going in that essay, its just the thought of crouching over a computer for ten hours or so that really puts me off. Suddenly, the world becomes an endlessly fascinating place that I can't bear to be away from.
And on that note, I'm going to pop by the Botanic Gardens on the way to the library. See how the plants are getting on now that Spring is, well, springing. The librarian is hunting down an article that I've convinced myself I Really Need and it is entirely because I haven't read said article that I can't start work on the essay. Think my nails also need to be clipped, my duvet changing, my teeth flossed and my room hoovered. All much more important, in the grand scheme of things, than actually settling down to work.