Procrastination, You Unforgiving Bitch

My mother once wrote:
"I think, sometimes, that God gives us a little taste of Hell...Just His little way of letting us know that we really do not want to go there."

I hate it when Mom is right.
Whether it be God, karma or just straight-up "hard times", I received my little spoonful of Hell today.

My day began with a night of insomnia - a symptom of "Finals-Day Jitters" for my Mechanics/Physics class in college. I spent the better part of two hours playing games on a popular "gaming" website before finally laying down to sleep at one o'clock this morning. I woke to the head-splitting sound of the alarm clock at six AM, (one half-hour faster than every other clock in the civilized world), only to allow my wife to, repeatedly, hit the snooze button until I summoned up the gumption to get my tired butt out of bed and prepare for work: Shower, breakfast, (three eggs, ala Rocky Balboa), tooth polishing and gathering my keys, wallet, work ID, can of chewing tobacco and cell phone.
I stepped out of the door - momentarily forgetting my book bag with the notes allowed by my instructor during test time - and sure as the Hell I was about to go through, it was raining.
"But, bw Frampton...why is the rain such a bad thing?" you ask.
Saturday, on the way back home from work, my windshield wipers decided to allow their gears to strip out during a light misting and, instead of working on the pesky things, I fell victim of the demon-bitch, "Procrastination". I remember the conversation between the two of us that day:

bw: "Damn. I guess I'd better fix these wipers after supper."

Procrastination: "Oh, dear bw...There is no need for that just yet. You have finals on Monday and Tuesday. You need to study ALL WEEKEND! Relax...study...there is plenty of time to fix your precipitation removing vehicular devices..."

That was our conversation, folks. As you can tell, we have little to say to one another.

Well, the weekend came and went at the wink of an eye. I studied and studied and studied and...
...BAM! It was Monday. Finals for DC Circuits and Devises and for my C# Computer Programming Class.
I never once thought about my stripped wipers.

Until I left for work this morning. It was raining just enough to get on one's nerves - nothing too hard. But that is the funny thing about light rain...
...When you take the approximate value of the quality of rain, (I'll give today's rain a 2 out of ten on the Frampton Severity Scale), and multiply it by the speed of a moving vehicle then add it to the negative acceleration of the stripped wiper blades, it gets pretty damn bad.
It was like driving forty-five minutes with one of those frosted bathroom windows for a windshield - you know...those bathroom windows that will let light in but obscure the vision of the neighborhood Peeping Tom that likes to watch you do your business. Yeah, those windows.
I missed my turn onto Route 729 and took 73 all the way to 22 where I could have taken to the traffic lights that lead to Old 73 which takes me immediately beside my place of work. In my mind, I was thinking, "Just turn left at the first light after exiting 73."
Uh-oh! I suddenly found myself back on Route 73 - not the Old 73, but the one I had been driving on for damn near a half-hour. slowly, I crept along, the light rain turning into a dampening downpour, cursing and cussing, (there is a difference to me), every so-&-so; every dirty blah-blahing-blah-blah, and flipping off all innocent passers-by that happened to, well, pass by until I found a road leading to Farmer's Road, which happens to lead to Route 134, which just so happens to be the backyard way into my place of employment.
One hour and fifteen minutes after leaving my house, I stepped out of my car and made my way into work...

...where I aggravated a lower back injury and hour before clocking out.

So, there I was, again...driving through another rain storm, unable to see clearly with razor blades jabbing into my lower back and my Physics Final on my mind. I found myself cursing and cussing, (...difference), every such-n-such, every ding-jing-dangle and giving the shove-it sign (along with the bird on top), to all passers-by that was making it tough for me to get to school.

It took me ten minutes to get from my car to the classroom, thanks to my lower back and the air-freight business which employs me. After sitting down to take my final exam, I became aware that the seat I plopped my butt into was actually more uncomfortable that the seat which housed my cheeks in my car. But, hey...no problem. I'll get right through this test and get home.

The instructor set the test in front of my face and, immediately, I became a student of the Greek Language. I flipped through notes, read through passages of my worthless textbook, punched numbers that, at the time, meant the difference between existence and death, and damn near started several small fires with the heat that was generated through the friction of my pencil lead scratching on paper. Three hours of thinking, figuring and calculating, all the while having to adjust my rear end in the seat to compensate my screaming back.

I returned home, my mind too spent to pay heed to the hydro-opaqued windshield; my will too tired to curse or even cuss the rotten people who passed me by, slashing even more water into my already handicapped field of vision; my fingers and arms too tired to shove or flip my gestures to fellow drivers.

Procrastination. What a bitch.

Mother, dear...You have never been so right in your life. I don't want to go to hell.