We all know the feeling.
The initial denial. The deep dread. The inevitable tears of frustration.
The cursed aiste is upon us once more, and there’s no escaping it, as much as we’d like to.
Yes yes, the same aiste we found out about three months ago. Yes yes, the same one that we swore we’d do “super early this time”, so that we wouldn’t have to suffer through the same pain and hardship that left us sleep-deprived and croíbhriste after the last one. Back when deadline madness corrupted our brains and turned us into red-eyed zombies, slumping over computer screens until the early hours and feeling oh so sorry for ourselves.
You’d think that we’d learn from our previous naivety wouldn’t you? That we’d recognise our mistakes and come back with a brand new, oh-so-mature and hard-working approach?
Bhuel a chara, you’d be wrong.
Because you see, as much as we’d love to morph into these fabulously mature, capable and intelligent scoláirí, who we promised ourselves we would become, there are about a million other things that require our utmost attention before we could even dream of opening Microsoft Word.
Ar dtús, we have the mandatory check of Facebook. Because, what if someone wants us? What if someone has been desperately trying to reach us but can’t get us on our phones? What if something has happened and we’re the last to know?
Now, more often than not, we’ll log on and find out that we’ve got one measly notification, from one long-forgotten “friend” who doesn’t even really miss you – they just sent you an invite to play some useless game that you’ve never wanted to play and never will.
After that, comes the moment that you realise you’re surrounded by an array of empty pints glasses, mouldy mugs of tae, dirty socks and that dodgy mystery stain in the carpet, which is looking a lot more sinister all of a sudden…
Sure of course, you “couldn’t possibly work in such filth“.
Thus leading to an hour or two of in-depth cleaning, to such a standard that even your Mamaí would be proud. Even if, dare I say, visitors were calling over.
So finally, faoi dheireadh, the stain has been scrubbed, the cups are clean, the bed has been made and your seomra is spotless.
Now is the point when it generally hits us that we were never going to work in the room anyway, and that there’s only one solution to our procrastination problem…
Little do we know, this will just open a whole other can of worms.
In we stroll, with hope in our hearts, grabbing any book that might even be the slightest bit relevant, convinced that today…today will be the day that we’ll tackle the accursed thing and come out alive.
Then, we sit down, organise our desk, take out our study plan (the beauty and colour-coordination of which, would rival the Sistine Chapel itself) and open Microsoft Word.
In with the title, in with your name and in with your student uimhir for good measure.
Sure that’s nearly 50 words right there! Thus, we reward ourselves with a 30 minute creep trín bhfuinneog.
After a few hours of this rotation between creeping out the window, regular trips to the toilet, sneaky snapchats of the Greek God sitting beside us and occasionally jotting down a cúpla focal, we start to feel pretty good about ourselves.
Therefore, when the fón póca beeps and we cast our eyes over those five beautiful, beautiful words, sent from procrastination heaven or productivity hell…
“Will we go for pints?”
We tell ourselves,”You’ve been here for hours, you deserve a break”.
Spurring the famous last words…
“Sure I can finish this in the morning!”
And that’s the end of that until the maidin ina dhiaidh , when you wake up with a mouth as dry as Gandhi’s sandal, a pounding headache and some vague memories of having “great craic” before falling into bed at some ungodly hour.
With the spriocdháta getting ever closer, there’s nothing to do but crawl to the laptop screen to finish the fecking thing once and for all.
Except that instead of finding all your work from the night before, you’re greeted by a frozen laptop screen and the feeling of your blood turning cold as you watch your essay disappear before you eyes.
Queue the inevitable tears here.
Time is running out. We know we’ll have to start the excruciating process all over again, because if we use the “family problems” excuse for an extension uair amháin eile, they’ll either smell a rat or call social services.
So we sit down to the dreaded task once more, there’s no time for distractions, nothing can tear us away from it this time…
Until perhaps…we get the sudden burst of inspiration to blog about it…