To My Procrastinated Paper,

If letters had timestamps, this one would say 6:53 a.m. I’m sitting in City Diner, because the library closed hours ago. The sound of the morning news buzzes in my ear. The workers are sleeping in booths. I have papers scattered across my table. I can only imagine what the bags under my eyes must look like, or how disheveled my hair is. I look so distraught someone just sympathetically brought me a cup of coffee. You did this to me.

Your very existence is offensive to me. 15 pages? 15. Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me. Who do you think you are? That’s a tree branch. (I know that because I took the time to Google it instead of writing another page of you.) Do you really think you are worthy of a whole branch? That’s a living, breathing part of our beautiful Earth that you killed! How does that make you feel?

I hope you feel really guilty right now, because that’s how you’ve made me feel. Last week, while I was watching my fourth consecutive episode of Law & Order: SVU, I suddenly remembered you. I was so consumed with guilt and dread that I could not even enjoy the riveting plot unfolding before me. How dare you. Who are you to make me feel like that?

Tell me when I was supposed to work on you. When, since the beginning of the semester when you were assigned, was I supposed to find the time to sit down and write fifteen pages? In January, I was still getting adjusted to my new classes. February? That was Mardi Gras and post-Mardi time; I was certainly in no state to worry about you. March was just time to chill, you know? April feels like it’s only started, but suddenly — here you are.

I guess I could have started you last week, but Wednesdays are Happy Hour at The Boot, and I really can’t miss out on that kind of deal. Thursday I have a standing obligation to F&M’s Patio Bar. Friday … well, Fridays just aren’t workdays. The same can be said for Saturday. Sunday is homework day, but that’s for doing all the homework that’s due Monday.

Well, here we are at Monday, and you’re due tomorrow. I had to give up a wonderful Monday night, where I’d normally be relaxing, flipping between Buzzfeed articles and refreshing Facebook. Instead, I’ve been up for nearly 24 hours, a full 12 of which have been devoted to you.

You’ve taken a lot from me these past several hours, things I don’t know if I’ll ever recover from. I’m a strong, independent woman. I will survive this. But I think its time to come to terms with the harm you’ve done. I’m not seeking an apology. In fact, the best way you can make this up to me is to just leave me alone.

Have a nice life,

Pissed Off Procrastinator (P.O.P.)