She scrambled on top of me, sitting Indian-style on my shins, and before I could stop her, the girl leaned in an planted another kiss on me, her hands clasping the sides of my head. I was almost too tired to do anything about it, but managed to grab her shoulders and pull her away.
"You need to go back to bed."
"You don’t think I’m pretty?"
She was inches from my face, really squinting, as if it were a section of a globe she’d never closely inspected before, an ocean filled with strings of unnamed islands.
"The girl gave the most premium of hugs—skinny arms clamped around your neck like zip ties, bony knees bumping against yours. It was like she was trying to get an indelible impression of you to take away with her forever."
"I miss him every single day," she said. "I hate how the people who really get you are the ones you can never hold on to for very long. And the ones who don’t understand you at all stick around. Ever noticed that?"
"Very few people understand the purely subjective nature of the phenomenon that we call love, or how it creates, so to speak, a fresh, a third, a supplementary person whom the world knows by the same name, a person most of whose constituent elements are derived from oneself, the lover."
It turns out procrastination is not typically a function of laziness, apathy or work ethic as it is often regarded to be. It’s a neurotic self-defense behavior that develops to protect a person’s sense of self-worth.
You see, procrastinators tend to be people who have, for whatever reason, developed to perceive an unusually strong association between their performance and their value as a person. This makes failure or criticism disproportionately painful, which leads naturally to hesitancy when it comes to the prospect of doing anything that reflects their ability — which is pretty much everything.