I’m sitting on the floor, facing both a blank google doc and some silly TV show in the background, 1:34am on a humid Tuesday morning. I’d prefer Monday night, but oh well. An endless to do list hums constantly in the back of my mind, embodied on scrap paper, iPhone notes, skin, and mirrors. And yet here I am, 47 minutes into a trans-Atlantic phone call. It’s become a ritual over the past three years – we find each other in the busiest of times to complain about work, delay it, and continue doing nothing. Call of Duty shots ring through the speakers as I chew on a hairclip. The conversation never runs dry; silences openly welcome and yet frequently interrupted for chit chat. Fatigue has me slightly delusional, but the comfort of company won’t allow me to hang up. You may feel like I’m wasting my time, but I’m going to have to disagree. You see, even though my mental health will hate me for saying this, procrastination fuels us.
Art by Quinn Fagersten
