I've got a project that I've been working on since about December, although, 'working on' may be too strong a phrase. "Sortof going into the lab every once in a while and screwing around" would be a better way to describe it. Anyways, I had a draft due on the 11th of February before I went to London (I could have had until the weekend if I was going to be around) and then the good copy is due on the 22nd.
Naturally, I put off doing the bulk of the work until about halfway through the 9th (which, by the way, amounts to 20 pages of math). This is partly because I procrastinate and partly because in the summer I wrote a ~20 page draft in two days fairly easily. The thing I didn't realize though is that the draft I did in the summer wasn't easy because I am amazing (even though I am). No. That draft was easy because I had been doing the research behind it nearly every day for six or seven hours for the previous three months. It was basically already written in my head.
This one not so much. Shit
Anyways, I got the draft done in time (minus one conclusion and even then just barely, I had to run to catch my train to the airport) and sent it off to be edited. I got those edits back today, today which is the 19th and this paper is due on the 22nd. It took the professor a week to make suggestions on a paper that took 2 days to write. And it's not like it's a bad paper either - she was mostly happy with it and only had a few suggestions which I will now have to dedicate my weekend to doing because they weren't suggested a few days earlier.
This is where I feel like I should complain but deep down inside, I know I would have left it until the weekend anyways. Deadlines are the only reason why I do anything. So maybe they hate me, but I don't hate them so much. Except for when they involve doing work.
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