For the past 36 hours, my existence has been consumed with this one project. It has sucked my will to live. It has drained me of my spirit. Now I sit here. And procrastinate.
How is it that I always find the time to procrastinate? Oh, if only there were a profession for procrastinators -- I would do so well. I'd start entry-level and work my way up to a managerial position. Then I'd be promoted to regional manager, then to regional vice president, then to director and then to full partner. Next thing you know, I'd be president of the business. I would be asked to be an adjunct professor at the top graduate school with the top procrastination graduate program. I would tour the world and give lectures on the Art of Procrastinating. Books bearing stupid puns like "Procrastinate Later," "Busily Procrastinating" and "Perfecting Procrastination" would circulate the presses. I would have an entry on Wikipedia on my life's accomplishments. I would be Queen and Goddess of All That Deals with Procrastination. All will worship me and despair.
But so far I have not seen any job openings for "Professional Procrastinator." For now, I suppose I'll have to settle for the title of "Peon who Procrastinates."
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