By Sophia Franco
Pro Procrastinator
Dear random worksheet I was supposed to print out for English,
I’m sorry I failed to turn you in, completed, to my A block teacher– I really am. I swear, I thought last night was the night. Last night I was going to sit down and finish every single piece of homework that had been assigned.
You see, I’m a regular “do it the free block/lunch/class before” kinda gal. I think I like seeing myself become unbelievably stressed and sweaty, trying to rush in that one last page of notes before class. Procrastination is my life motto.
But not last night. Last night I made a promise to myself that I would go the distance. I would shower after practice, eat dinner, then get down to it. I was prepared. I took down all the homework put up on the whiteboard, I looked at the syllabus, I even checked Schoology. Schoology! Just to be safe!
That night I spent hours sitting at my computer, typing essays, writing notes, reading books, searching Google Translate, and even checking the back of the stupid math book to see if I was doing any of the math problems right. I swear, I did everything I could, but it wasn’t enough.
The next morning, I felt radiant. I even looked different. My skin cleared up, my weird sunburn faded, my hair still smelled good from my shower. Everything was going well, all thanks to that one night of pure drive. I felt at peace, like nothing could stop me.
Then it all came crashing down. I entered class with an obnoxiously large smile, sat back in my seat, and began to take out the two-page response I had completed. While rummaging through my bag, my teacher said something, but I was too lost in my own thoughts to hear. I straightened up put my work on my desk and looked around me. That’s when I looked around room.
On each desk was a worksheet, one I had never seen before. It was you, of course. You, that one piece of work that was written under the asterisk on the course syllabus. My heart started pounding as I finally registered what the teacher had been saying. What was I going to say?
The teacher came slowly around the desks like some soft spoken grim reaper, hand outstretched, expectantly awaiting you, my unfinished worksheet. I mouthed the words I couldn’t bear to speak. The teacher frowned slightly then moved on to the next student.
Normally it wouldn’t have been such a big deal. After all when you do work as close to the edge as me, lateness is a common casualty, but that night was supposed to be different. I had tried, I mean really tried, yet there I was looking disorganized and unreliable in front of everyone who had their worksheets ready and waiting. Now the teacher was just going to assume that I was a slacker in spite of my five hour effort to get my mountain of work under control. It just ain’t fair.
If there’s anything that public school has taught me, it’s that doing all your homework is way more important than actually absorbing any new information. That morning, I let my teacher down, my classmates down, myself down, but most of all, I let you down, participle practice sheet. For that I am truly, truly sorry. Maybe next time I’ll just remember not to try, so this won’t hurt so much.
