I wasn't even out all that late on Saturday night, but I had part of an assignment hanging over my head. I decided to put it off as long as possible (three hours before it was due sounded like a good time to start), but then had difficulty sleeping. (This crazy dream about my car rolling down the driveway at my parents' house and crashing into the neighbors' place didn't help. I woke up highly agitated at 3 a.m.)
I finished my stuff in time, and then fought my intense desire to go veg out at home so I could meet with another client and get cracking on some key items on her to-do list. Being over there just reminded me that I haven't started my taxes yet. Did I start them when I got home? Nooooo!!!
Maybe I'll work on it tonight . . . Meh. Doubtful. It's not even April yet. Why rush?
Plus, there's always the chance that sometime between now and the fifteenth the entire economy will collapse even more than it already has, which will somehow lead to the destruction of society as we know it — which would include the IRS — making it impossible for the government to know whether I've paid my taxes. So, why should I bother filling out their dumb forms if we're all going to be living in some kind of post-apocalyptic wasteland?
I like that theory a lot; it's my go-to rationale for procrastinating, especially at this time of year — hence my post from last April 2:
Maybe it's in case the world ends before my deadline. If so, why should I have spent my last moments working instead of goofing off and enjoying myself? (It's a little like the mom's reasoning in Brighton Beach Memoirs: And suppose the house burned down this afternoon. What do I need with an extra quarter-pound of butter?)
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