Our generation doesn’t need a qualifier like “procrastination.” Whenever something has to be done that there isn’t an app for procrastination is a precursor.
Until you can hire a hit-man to hold you at gunpoint while you type, best believe that paper isn’t being written until the morning it’s due.
I’m no different.
I loathe movement, even when it’s necessary for survival. I eat sparingly as food comes with dishes, I put off shitting until I’ve sprouted a tail, and right now I’m saving up for one of those assisted breathing masks.
If procrastination was consequence free I’d play with my dick and watch SportsCenter all day. The problem is procrastinating makes you feel like awful. Studying sucks, but after finishing you inevitably realize that the knot of guilt churning in your stomach as you stalled on Facebook was even shittier.
But why is that?
Lets take a look at a caveman’s day.
Sunrise: Wake-up, check if you froze to death last night.
8:00 AM: Prepare to go hunting so family can eat. Fuck cave-wife so if you don’t come back your species can live on.
8:25 AM: Find out three of your children were eaten by a bear the night before. Fuck cave-wife again for good measure as it’s now clearly time to re-up.
9:35 AM: An hour into the hunt there’s no sight of any living creatures.
10:20 AM: Meet up with cave-mistress and finger her behind a large rock. Receive seven berries from an appreciative cave-slut.
2:30 PM: Pressure to find food is growing as family is starving back at the cave.
4:00 PM: Small pheasant gets trapped trying to burrow in your anus thinking you were a decaying antelope. Wiping with poison oak for the past twenty years is starting to pay off.
5:14 PM: Upon returning to cave there’s a realization that the pheasant isn’t big enough to feed the whole family. A game of RO-SHAM-BO is played to determine who eats and who dies.
7:00 PM: Bury loser of RO-SHAM-BO. Fuck cave-wife one last time but barley enjoy it because, you know, it’s late and it’s been a long day. Oh, also she smells like absolute fuck because she’s never showered…ever.
Repeat until untimely death.
Although we now have the iPhone 5’s while cavemen were stuck with 3G’s, physiologically we aren’t very different. The same dopamine-based reward system that led our ancestors to instinctively hunt and fuck is still very present in us.
That being said, we no longer have to hunt every meal or fuck constantly to ensure our species’ survival. So in order to get that same wonderful dopamine reward we must trick our brains by creating our own obstacles to overcome…aka goals.
Winning the championship football game, passing the bar, being hired in a competitive job field, publishing your novel, nailing the hot girl…these are our 21st century versions of hunting deer with a sharp rock. Sure checking your Twitter or watching a fat person fall down on Youtube is pleasurable, but the rush is fleeting and has diminishing returns the longer you surf.
Tangible, and most importantly, contagious, dopamine based happiness emanates from achieving a goal that require struggle and hard work to accomplish. Without these obstacles to overcome our brains we’ll assume we’re chillin’ in a cave, the precursor to starvation, and hoard dopamine as punishment.
So next time you’re laying around feeling like shit, know that you’re only feeling like shit because you’re laying around. By the way, I apologize if I’m coming off like I’m wearing a bit too many pieces of flair. I’m all for self-loathing, Twitter binges, and lazy afternoons sitting down on the couch. But when earned after a full day of hunting, interacting with other tribe members, and fucking your smelly cave-wife, those activities can all be enjoyed guilt free.
Most importantly, don’t sweat questions like “What is the meaning of life?” or “What do Thom Yorke’s lyrics mean?” They’re mind fucks that our brains are incapable of answering because we were never supposed to have enough free time to ask them.
Instead, use that time to create, drink excessively with friends, and make sex. Hopefully all while sitting down.
Also, I couldn’t find a place to fit it in, but…soliloquy.
****Not original ideas, just reworded and mixed with potty humor
“I just recently realized you can stay seated on the toilet to wipe by just slipping your hand up and around. I’ve always stood up to wipe which was harder and way messier.”
-George H.W Bush