Procrastination Station

Are you fuckin serious! I have more work to do still? Shit.

Ok. So pretty much if you read Mondays post you’ll know what I mean. Currently I am suffering from the same ailment as my dear colleague Ben. Strategic. Advertising. Management. Also known as SAM, this beast is getting me down. I’m soon to be on top of it riding it like it was my bitch but right now I’m not. No no no, right now I’m casually laid back on a semi-hardwood bench at procrastination station.

Procrastination station has a lot of visitors and I will attempt to describe them best I can. To my left is an old man who is hooked up to an i.v. machine. Liver spots can be seen underneath his wispy, white hair and as I journey down his time-weathered face I see he wears a look of wisdom and distinction. But, I can’t help but wonder, a man his age, what is he procrastinating? Surely the only you HAVE to do at that age is die right?

To my right sits my creative partner, my right hand man. He is chilling out, staring distantly into the distance. Who knows what rolls through his head. But I gather he is waiting for the same motivation train as I, he too is gripped by the evils of SAM. Shhhhhhhh. I dare not speak its name too loudly now. It might hear me. That’s right, looming just above Procrastination Station is SAM, an almighty overlord that heralds impending doom for all who miss the motivation train. It calls to me to fail.

Around the station a gentle flow surges back and forth as people arrive and depart, each one fearing their own deadline overlord. I see everyone walk by with a definitive look of ‘I cannot be fucked with this’. Business men, university students, parents, all with something to do. I look down at the readings in front of me as the words jump and dance with each other. They trickle down the page, reset, then trickle down the page again like an endless waterfall of messy information. But then one line sticks, I read it and see a solid idea.

Suddenly in the distance chimes a quiet ‘chooooo’. The ground begins to bounce and shudder. Winds rush around the station. I stand up and step to the edge of the platform. As I do the rails in front of me turn to dust and from below them rises a train. The carriages are scratched and torn, each one showing the wear and tear of numerous trips. A man steps off and asks me for a ticket, but I don’t have one, or do I? I write down the idea that had stuck earlier on a piece of paper. It is after all what will carry me to the end of this essay. I hand it to the man and he lets me on. As I recline into my seat on the motivation train I feel confident in knowing that I have departed Procrastination Stations and will, at some point, finish this essay.

Cheers.