You know something? I am a fucking genius, a workaholic, an overachiever. When I compare myself to mothers of newborns or old men with a professional career behind them, yeah, I sort of look like a bit of a slacker. But by any more reasonable standard, I work my ass off. And I should be damn proud of it, instead of taking shit for not working my ass off enough.

So what if I do put my work off until the last minute? Hey, I work best under pressure. You should have seen me around 11 tonight, running around, doing three jobs at once, doing my best - which was pretty damn good, considering the results - to learn a whole new set of skills ASAP. I'm less chipper now. But then it is 7:30 in the morning. So I think that's understandable. But the thing is, I'm not still up because I put very hard piece of work off for a week, I'm still up because someone else put a somewhat hard piece of work off for a month. Bitter? Oh, why do you ask? Dammit, this should not have happened.