Category Archives: Procrastinator Diaries (Pierce)

How Procrastination is Communicated Through Illness

This is Pierce again. I’ve been away and acting more urgently lately. But instead of pride from accomplishment, I’m left feeling a bit remorseful and worried. It seems that it takes people to be in bad health in order to get me to act. While this shows that I am willing to drop things and immediately react and focus my priorities on those who are not feeling well, I sometimes wonder.

What message does this send to the others? That I only tend to them when something is wrong? That it takes an injury, illness, being under the weather, or other signs of distress, before I look their way? It is some kind of unfortunate. It doesn’t leave much room for a mood of sunshine to sneak through the cracks, does it?

And not unscathed are times when everyone is in good health. Even during these moments the atmosphere has a kind of absurd pall over it. These are the effects I create. People are scared to be happy, to be their normal selves, because nothing gets done, no attention is paid, during these scenarios. Yet when they start getting aches and pains, depression, start to not be able to make it up that hill, I come running.

Am I, in fact, in my selective procrastination, or my selective and biased recovery from procrastination… am I simply providing fertile ground and reinforcement for malingering?



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Workout Injury: Danger with Internal Weights

Hello. My name is Pierce. I have been away, as usual. This time, working out. If I am going to procrastinate, I may as well use that time to expand my gluteal muscles and make a claim to the title of strongest procrastinator in the world. Olympic dreams.

The workout wasn’t that good at all. In fact, when all was said and done, my head and mind seemed to be pumping more than my lower body. Why? The locker room cameras preoccupied my thoughts. It made me think, yet again. Not again.

I’m sure we have heard of the expression “he was conspicuous by his absence.” This led me to think that it’s also possible to be conspicuous by trying to be inconspicuous. These are my exact feelings every time I enter into the gym locker room that have surveillance cameras installed. By looking around to see if anybody is looking at me, I think this draws attention and makes me look suspicious. Worse still, when I glance frantically around my surroundings trying to spot those cameras, and make eye contact with the lens, those eyes on the other side suddenly get aroused, focused, thinking that I am about to do something?

What did I do? All I am really doing on these occasions is trying to find the most opportune time to slip my valuable possessions, such as my keys and wallet, into the locker without anyone noticing. I simply do not want anyone to see that I am potentially leaving worthwhile items while I work out. In practicing prevention, I look like a suspect. Those eyes in the sky must really be wondering why I am sitting and waiting in the locker room for such a long period of time? And why I keep looking around? And why I only spring into action when the crowds are gone? Gosh, I feel guilty just thinking about it.

As for my workouts that I had, during my time away from here, when I finally got to them, and started lifting, I just couldn’t do much. Didn’t really add any plates, because I contantly kept collapsing under my own body weight.

How come being not guilty feels so horrible?


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Can I Get Another Set of Eyes to Look at This?

Hello. I am Pierce. I’ve been away. Doing what? Living out and piloting another idea for this procrastinator diary post. That’s my modus operandi. Have an idea. Go away. Leave. Disappear. Not write. Not write. Again, not write. Be left in peace with my procrastination. So, I can play out my ideas. Put it in action. Do some experiments. Come back. And, write.

Here is what I found during my time away. That, ironically, my isolated time spent alone has not been very productive. There was no urgency. There were no other set of eyes. There were no threats of evaluation, feedback, or witnesses to give evidence that I was living. Nobody noticed. Honey, telling people what I did during the day does not have the same effect as showing them directly what I do as they watch me.

This result and realization surprised me. I didn’t know. Look at me. I’m ashamed. I’m not as tough, insensitive, nor oblivious as I thought I was. Look at me. I’m writing. I’m working. Look at me. I need you. It’s so hard for me to say, but it is. God, I need people.

Is it so that I am not as intrinsically motivated as I thought? Funny. During this time away, I got more accomplished in two hours in the evening with all kinds of people buzzing around in the home and not much done during 8 hours of silence during the day. Is it the people I need or the sense that time is running out in the day?

Maybe I do need the pressure. Both with time and with people. So, for my next hiatus, can I test this out by throwing myself into an audience at every opportunity? Have an open house accompany me wherever I go?
However, if I end up getting the eventual stage fright, and don’t go through with this, procrastinators of course always have a backup plan to avoid being thrown into the social fire.

I’m already hard at work conjuring up which imaginary eyes to permanently engrave into my mind, so that daggers threaten to rain upon me at my every move. And just in case my imagination fails me, I’ve been drawing numerous eyes so intense that they need not other bodily features to disclose the identities they have provided for eternal history. These eyes ranging from all time will be placed all over my wall in case I try to waste my life again. On one upper corner example, from Zeus to Sisyphus to Medea to Kafka to Plath to Thurber. With these eyes giving me attention, how dare I not take risks to go deeper!


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Reasons Behind Avoiding Foreplay

Hello. This is Pierce. After reading Mr Manly’s post and advice for relationships, it got me thinking. It got me asking. It got me fretting about how I haven’t been involved in an intimate relationship for an uncountable number of days. It’s no fault of the other party, that’s for sure. I can’t expect them to patiently wait until perhaps death for me to still not have made a decision.

That post got me thinking, especially after reading how so many readers were open and honest about their thoughts. So I will be as well. Because I want you to understand from my perspective, and perhaps some men out there also share these views. Women? I love you, I really do, but there’s a reason why I come across as I do, with all that hesitancy and reluctance.

The last many times, I have avoided having sex. This was due to remembrance of an anxiety-filled experience. I just couldn’t do it. Couldn’t make the commitment. Just stood there. And then the moment passed and was no more.

You see, way back when, when procrastination only encompassed most of my life, I actually played the part, all the way to the point of turning off the lights and getting under the covers. You know, the part when the teenagers watching television make sounds of disappointment as the screen goes dark leaving them only to wonder and imagine the rest of the love scene. Little did they know, when the lights went off, I pretty well shut if off as well.

My partner wanted more foreplay, extensive foreplay. Lots of women like that, right? Some even prefer it more than the direct act itself, and a few are even okay with just doing the foreplay. I refused. It may seem cold, heartless, uncreative, and selfish, but I hope women around the world will hear me out and understand my reasons. I love foreplay, but just couldn’t and, to this day, can’t. I love foreplay so much that, in fact, the intensity is unbearably enough to cause the ultimate release before part two. Am I weak? No stamina?

I’m afraid of foreplay because of premature you know. But I didn’t tell women. And it didn’t come across well physically and emotionally when the lights were turned off. This kind of worry has resulted in me totally putting off anything that even comes close to resembling intimate relations. I know I avoided eye contact on the train many times over this morning.

But I do wonder, and would like to put this question out for consideration and learning. May there be some women out there who feel flattered when small foreplay is enough to make me finish? Are there women out there who feel greater satisfaction with men who prefer to stop after foreplay and not do the sequel?
Instead of being a sign of weakness, I think it shows great potency to be able to achieve the ultimate sensual pleasure while both are fully clothed.

Anyways, now you can understand how all these thoughts have precluded me from being able to consider the sex as we know and love it. Again, I don’t mean any harm or hurt to women; it is just fear on my part. I hope you understand.

I guess the state I’m in now I wouldn’t have much problem converting to a monk, except for my thoughts. Monks, procrastination, sex – all would be okay, except for my thoughts.

(Another thought for another day: is procrastination a form of overextended foreplay that exhausts oneself into inability to perform the more important next act?)


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The Fountain of Alternative Aging

Someone on a hot day drinks from a water fountain and then goes back to the outdoor activities. During the next break, comes back to the fountain only to find ‘out of order’ signs pasted to the fountain.

If you were this person, what are your feelings? No feelings? Just an inconvenience and head to the next available fountain? Do you think about the cause? Oh, it must be a mechanical issue, or something wrong with the pump?

A particular someone did not consider any of the above possibilities. Instead, he was sure that the authorities shut off the water too late to prevent him from consuming dangerous contaminated water from his earlier drink. But he kept these thoughts to himself. Nothing happened. He did not get physically sick.

However, his friends and family say that he certainly wasn’t the same after this. He didn’t talk as much, and almost lived with kind of an expectation, and seemed to be constantly looking for something. He rarely did anything without reading about it first, did not go to, or use, anything without signs, and usually came home looking dehydrated.


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The ‘Side-Effects’ of Road-Rage (Experimental Musings for Psychology)

Hello. It’s Pierce again. Obviously, it’s working. After never writing in public my entire life, I was able to panic my way through my introduction at the last post, and now have returned after being the subject of various physical experiments. I did sign a waiver and consent form, and would like to send out an invitation for more participants who are willing to vent their frustrations over me. Father?

In this diary entry, I want to react to comments made by Rick concerning the road-rage post. You can click here for the original article.

Here’s a part of what Rick said in his observations about who he thinks the actual road-rage perpetrator is:

“I don’t see how you had road rage? The other guy obviously had a bit or rage but seems like you kept to yourself – unless you were very angry inside and did not make that clear in your post. Or maybe you meant that suffering from road rage for the first time was suffering from some other douche bags rage?”

I am worried. I think Rick’s assessment of the situation is dead on. Do you ever have that feeling of discomfort when you see yourself exactly in somebody else’s personal pronouns? Though the authors and readers were immersed in their discussions without any knowledge of my identity, they may as well be talking about me.

I am that person. That person who keeps entirely to himself while the the cars, the people, the world, life, rages on. Do you think this reluctance to act, express, or even release anger every once in awhile, is more likely in procrastinators? The indecision means the moment to emotionally vent may have passed us by? And let’s take a bit of a leap here. From this, can we hypothesize that because procrastinators tend to hold off on responding, and maybe hold things inside a little bit more or longer, then the rage is often boiling and expressed inwards rather than outwards? In this case, may we be more likely to pop a blood vessel or have a greater incidence of high blood pressure? Can someone point to any experiments that have been done on some of these factors?

As Rick was musing about the possible meanings in his comments, I can tell him that even in their specific case where I was not a direct participant, I was definitely angry inside. Just by reading, I dug so deep within I almost performed a self-burial. And yes, being frozen and unable to act does mean only being able to experience these possibilities through the drama of others. Does this mean that procrastinators would have more difficulty telling personal experience stories because they have experienced less of life’s moments directly than others?

Me, personally, I’ve never had road-rage before. No, never. Not in the moment, not out there, not where you can collect any evidence of it. However, I have practiced it, studied it, simulated it, rewinded it, paused it, many, many, many times over with my car doors shut as tightly as the security system that protects my mind.



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Headshakes instead of Handshakes (A ‘Physical’ Introduction to Pierce)

Sorry. Been here since the start, but just didn’t have the gumption to say anything. That’s the problem. While other procrastinators, viewers, readers, friends, strangers, seem to be having fun removing their inhibitions in this blog, I, I, can’t even arrive at the beginning of my stuttering. If it makes any sense, I am falling behind the procrastinators, so what category is that? There is just no vocabulary for how one can be so invisibly present for all these weeks.

Anyways, I’ve finally come to accept my punishment. I am Pierce, lost in my paragraphs I’ve never formed,  and I would like you to hurt me. As I’ve been pretty much void of outward emotion all my life, as I stand here, I would like you to just take out all your rage you have of unfulfilled dreams against this punching bag I volunteer as myself.

Since I have never been able to express my mental hopes into a communicable form, I wish that some physical stimulation would deliver the urgency in most blunt form. I beg that you passionately beat it out of me. Although sounding cruel, it is with hope that I ask you to try this corporal method to help me rescue whatever ideas are currently decaying within me because I cannot give them breath. Up to now, I speak as though ideas do not exist. I promise, promise, they are there, and will manifest with the appropriate threats.

So, can you do that for me? Threaten me! Just physically overwhelm me! I need to be put in a ‘fight’ or ‘flight’ state where my biology takes over and spurs me into the extreme urgency of action. I’m flat, flat, flat, flatlining constantly in between ‘fight’ and ‘flight.’ Always, in between. Maybe, hopefully, with my immediate health at risk, with pain ready to commence, I will finally discover what is it approximately that I do…that I may actually under extreme conditions, do more than just stand there and think. And think. And think.


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