Patrick Leigh-Pemberton: On arriving at Procrastination Station

I find it very difficult to write something that is not connected to the internet or the library. This used to be less of a problem for me, as in first and second year, I spent a lot less time connected to the internet in the library. I was a man of leisure, with considerable amounts of freedom which are now denied to me. Or at least, I think I was. These days, however, my life is one constant toil.

I write these words almost as much to convince myself as my parents, because whilst it may seem to me that my descent into responsibility, motivation and hard work has begun in earnest, a more searching gaze at my habits would reveal that this is in no way the case. Time spent in the library does not in any way relate directly to time spent working. There isn’t even a direct correlation. Sometimes I can sit here for 8 hours, and learn all there is to learn about the situation in Ukraine (thanks BBC/CNN/Wikipedia), but my essay will still be unstarted/unfinished/wrong. And on other days, I can be here for two hours, and complete everything that there is to complete. I leave the library with a sense of worth that is unequalled and unjustified. But then I go home, and learn about the situation in South Sudan for 6 hours. It is not that I don’t like being outside, or drunk, (these of course represent the polar opposites of “working”). In fact, I like them both (but everything in moderation, I wouldn’t like to get burnt by the harsh Scottish sun). But these days, if left to my own devices, I will do exactly the same things I do when I only have other people’s devices (is that right?).

I started out thinking that this was all part of my selflessness. I didn’t want to make others feel jealous you see. It would be nigh on rude to have fun when others couldn’t. This however, is obviously a lie I tell myself. I love having fun when others can’t; in fact, it is one of my favourite things. Actually, the conversation afterwards (“How was your day in the library?” “Awful, how was your day skipping along the coastline reciting poetry you insensitive git?” is normally how it goes) is the best part. But I digress. I then started to think that it was because there is nothing to do in St. Andrews. But this is also wrong, because there is loads to do, much of it I still haven’t done. In fact, there are thousands of ways in which young people could have fun in this town. But yet, I will still sit there looking at the pile of laundry I still haven’t done (and probably won’t do) whilst the internet makes me more and more indignant about the state of the world today.  It seems like a waste of my time.

I genuinely cannot work out why it is that I find it so difficult to go for a wander/ice cream/game of chase Hamish, but I was wondering if anyone has a cure ? I think my disease is called boredom, but there seems to be nothing but platitudes to help me on the internet.