Sometimes I Hate Myself

I have been struggling beyond reason to get my buttocks into action for this Master's thesis. I mean, struggling. So when the opportunity arose for me to present my findings thus far at an informal meeting of other postgrads, I leapt at it, knowing I thrive on the pressure.

This morning, I woke up sort of late without having set up what I was going to say. This morning (it is now 30 minutes before said meeting), I have done a load of laundry, done the dishes, made lunch, cleaned my entire bathroom, cleaned most of my bedroom, comprised my presentation complete with handout and printed outline, and solidified in my head my exact thesis question. I hate myself. I did more in the past four hours than I have all week, I believe. Though I did play an awful lot of Sims this week, which is very close to real life. I was quite successful there. Promotions, marriages, fame, children... I mean, I really cleaned up.

And today, I reminded myself of my capabilities. I hate when I do that. Because now I have no excuse for being so bloody lazy. And if I turn out to be one of those students who needs lecturers, I might have to shoot myself in the face. Here's hoping I don't have to resort to that.