Refining the distinguished art of procrastination

Melting snow and fresh notebooks can mean only one thing: spring. While this fact would generally be a cause for celebration and the ceremonial storing of sweaters and burning of Uggs, the arrival of this spring means something quite different: the onslaught of the dreaded thesis.

I knew the moment would come when I would finally figure out my thesis topic and stop defining it with words like "exploratory" and "investigatory." I knew it would come even in September, when my advisor lovingly wrote, "You have eight months to create an 80-100 page essay. That's 240 days, probably more. If you started now and wrote eight pages a week, you'd have a draft by January." It is now February. I almost have my title and font selected. (Professor Howarth, if you're reading this, just kidding. Kind of.)

As such, now seems the perfect time to engage in the age-old Princeton tradition of exploring interests, expressing ideas and entertaining various opinions about anything and everything. A.k.a, procrastination.

In the past four years, I've documented unique and, at times, desperate attempts at procrastination. In fact, if I'd given this much attention to my thesis subject, perhaps I'd have more than just a page after the chapter list stating "Insert 80-100 pages here." There have been extreme cases of procrastination, like the roommate who launched an e-business selling clothing just to get out of studying. Others have been more discreet, basking in their denial by attending sophomore open-houses as juniors just to get a free Olive's cookie. Others have redirected their efforts, producing spotless rooms and demonstrating exceptional hygiene in the days leading up to deadlines. In fact, those days might be the only ones in which both beds in my double were made on a consistent basis.

This year, I decided an undertaking as massive as the thesis ought to be commemorated with a procrastination effort equally grand. So, with my friend Renee I undertook my swan song of work avoidance: Sports Fest '05.

Believe me, it would take a thesis hovering over my head to get me inside a gym when the weather is even remotely pleasant. I'm an outside girl and, more specifically, a "no running" girl. Ever. Luckily, I found an anti-gym buddy just as tired of the ever-grinding treadmill as I was. We decided to launch a two-person Sports Fest, devoting an entire semester to mastering every sport on campus. Clearly, nine weeks before thesis due dates was the perfect time to start.

Thanks to our highly active friends, we've found talented instructors willing to dedicate a few minutes to teaching us everything from rock climbing to fencing to skating. The danger in our strategy is that our "talented instructors" are usually friends of teammates who have simply played around with a ball, skate or paddle at one point or another. As a result, the "teaching" provided is at least twice removed from any truly reputable instruction. It's like playing telephone. Only with rackets.

This week, for example, was squash. "Are you sure he said to aim with the handle and not the paddle?" "Um. Yes." I'll admit, I really tried hard to absorb all the instructions and "helpful hints" I was given, but once I got back to teach Renee, it all fell apart. "So if I get a point, do I serve again?" "I don't know, he mentioned something about it being like volleyball. . . ." I might start taking notes.

Day one of squash accomplished, we'd learned several things: any tennis instruction is detrimental to your squash game, remember to "warm up" the ball, and hitting a two-handed backhand will get you laughed at, even by the girls in the "juicy" shorts. But we still don't know how the marks got on the back wall. And our "willing instructor" definitely threatened to leave a few times. We have, however, mastered the art of keeping score. We might not be talented, but we are always interested in knowing who won, even if we're not sure how they did it.

This semester, Renee and I are taking our avoidance of work to a new level. I guess it's expected. With four years of practice under our belts, we've made procrastination an art. Ashley Johnson is an English major from Florence, Ala. She can be reached at ajohnson@princeton.edu.