Having just finished my exams, I thought this would be a good moment to share my groundbreaking knowledge on how to procrastinate. I have indeed learned a lot from my studies this far; I have gained a profound insight into arts management and more or less mastered the theory behind project management, and, – I have once and for all got a confirmation on my insanely well-developed ability to procrastinate. My talents are indisputable. She’s born with it.

(This text will be absolutely life-changing for productive people. You should sponsor me.)

• First and most importantly; wait until the very very very very last minute to do just about anything other than what’s on this list.

• Make sure to always snooze when your alarm goes off. One hour, two hours. There simply cannot be too many snoozes.

• Have insomnia. If you don’t, think about that thing you said fifteen years ago that might or might not have offended someone.

• Have cats (I cannot say this enough times). They tend to lie on you, on your books, on your computer. Follow the house rule of any decent cat household. ~Never~ move the cat.

• Make sure to have access to Netflix, HBO, and absolutely every other streaming service that exists. Side note: documentaries are technically like reading a book.

• Have a messy house. This will require you to do chores, and you will enjoy doing them for the first time in your life. (The same rule could be applied to working out.)

• YOUR SOCK DRAWER NEEDS ORGANIZING

• Contact friends you haven’t seen in a while. Your guiltiness will justify prioritizing to go out for a coffee (slash wine slash vodka slash drugs) with them.

• Make sure to rest and reward yourself after each goal you reach, which makes it totally logical to put very.many.goals.everywhere.

• Social media is your friend. Buzzfeed is your friend. Google is your friend. Memes are your friend. This site is your friend. The quiz What kind of butter are you? is your friend.

• Forget your glasses. Or lose them completely (you may prefer stepping on them by accident). If you don’t wear glasses, poke yourself in the eyeball with a fork.

• Spend months organizing your future progress. Buy fancy folders and other inspiring office equipment. Make sure to never be inspired by them.

• Call your mother. No further elaboration needed.

• Share a bottle with a random child or lick the used cup of your colleague that isn’t in today.

• Have daily selfie sessions for your resumé. Tell yourself it will help your future job search.

• Do some volunteering. No one can argue with volunteering.

• Make your husband/boyfriend/parent/friend/cat dinner. Disguise it as a simple act of love, but know better. Laugh like Dr. Evil within yourself.

• Make a blog that nobody reads. Write stuff like this, and tell yourself it’s educative.

Told you I’m good. Thank me later. Later.

I love sloths. Not only are they adorable, quirky little fellas, but they’re also my spirit animal. Sometimes I consider myself a sloth born in a human body. Can I put that in my passport?

I was born lazy. I hated going hiking in kindergarten, but loved to sit quietly inside, drawing pictures. Preferably on a couch. The day my parents put away my stroller, I recall not understanding why they would do that to me; making me walk when I had a perfectly fine vehicle where I could relax while enjoying the outside. Little did I know that the societal pressure to move oneself only gets worse with age.

My husband has spent the last nine years trying to get me to do sports, with very little success. My laziness is unbeatable, chronic, and definitely a very dominant part of my whole being. I consider working out masochism, and the gym a foul place where evil flourishes.

So, maybe I’ll die in my thirties, or maybe I’ll live to a hundred, having the heart of a newborn baby. It is actually considered one of nature’s great mysteries that I’m not the size of a whale. (Although on some days, I do feel like a small whale. A sperm whale?)

It would probably be a good thing to point out that I’m not talking about general activities. I’m quite active, mostly working with my hobbies, and my job (whichever job I’m working at) is really important to me. I’m talking about physical movement, and on the other side of the scale, the beauty of relaxation.

To share my insight, here comes a small presentation on how to lazy like a self-declared pro like me.

• If you live in a city, – memorize all the metro, bus and tram lines. These can help you get from one place to another with minimum effort. Always work against it when the city decides to change a line, as this easily can result in planning errors that again can result in having to walk places.

• If you have regular stops where you get on and off, always get in on the end of the vehicle that takes you closer to your final destination. Meters saved are never to be underestimated.

• If you like me have heard people say that one hour of working out prolongs your life with one hour, ask yourself this question; do you want to live that hour now, when you’re young, or when you’re old, weak and possibly senile?

• When needing to buy something, always go to the nearest location. Do not ever walk further to find a grocery store instead of a kiosk; the extra money you might end up spending is a small price to pay for not having to move more than absolutely necessary.

• Take escalators and elevators. If you’re claustrophobic, consider it therapy. I used to dislike elevators myself until I realized that my laziness totally beats my fear.

• Always shower at night, so you can sleep longer in the morning. I would tell you to make your outfit ready too, but because my body sometimes feels like a gift from God, and other times like a ball of fat, I cannot do so myself.

• Marry someone with a driver’s license and a car, but do not ever take your own license. This way you can remain a happy passenger, always enjoying a glass (or bottle) of wine, before napping while being transported around by your spouse.

• Have cats. Cats are lazy and sleepy creatures that will support your way of life. Sloths will also work, but I tend to recommend cats for obvious reasons.

• Get an injury. Injuries make great excuses not to move. When I was sixteen a girl in my class had a back operation and legally skipped gym class for a year. I was so jealous. Damn you, healthy body!

• If you are blessed with a meaty ass like I am, sit on it. That’s what it’s for. A meaty ass provides a comfortable cushion on whichever hard surface you need to rest upon.

• If you really need to do sports (y tho?), find one that appeals to your lazy side. Like biking; you sit while you’re working out. Or yoga, lying down half of the workout session. It’s on the borderline, but I can accept it.

• But preferably, devote yourself to activities that require you to sit down. Like drawing, writing, or something else where no one will question why you’re not moving.

• Never ever go to the mountain.

And lastly, never hide your laziness, celebrate it!

As a bonus, I will reveal that although I am a complete disaster at most sports, there is one I’m actually ridiculously good at. Ping pong.

I hereby present two of my most common traits; I tend to personify things. I tend to have some level of insomnia.

Insomnia might not sound like such a big deal for those who have not had it. But in addition to messing up your nights (hence also your days), insomnia is both a cause for and an effect of mental diagnoses like anxiety and depression. Believe me, I’ve had it all, but I still don’t know if the chicken or the egg came first.

Well, all of these things can be cured one way or the other, but the trauma of insomnia is what still haunts its victim, even in the healthiest of times.

I love sleeping, and if nobody wakes me up or if I don’t put my regular three alarms, I can still sleep like a fourteen year old full of raging hormones. This would be a good time to mention that I have checked my vitamins, changed my diet, and so on. So, sometimes, being more than averagely spaniardized, I take a nap. A good old siesta.

And I fall asleep within minutes. I sleep deeply and heavily and I struggle with getting up. When you remove the pressure of going to bed at night, the thought of the consequences of failing, I’m a sleeping machine. More than I would like even, I tend to think most people live years longer than me, counting only waking hours.

When you have or have had insomnia, the bed is your enemy. No matter how comfy it is, no matter how expensive your silky bedsheets are, your bed is a monster, and it tortures you and gives you the feeling of performing an impossible task. You go on stage in front of a million people with an instrument you have never played before. You know you will fail and you know that it will make you desperate on surviving it and that it will ruin your day. Tomorrow too, probably even the next one.

My body becomes alert. If I go through every part of it, I can feel how my mouth is twitched in a grim, how my forehead is wrinkled and my fists closed. When I go through each one of them, they have twitched again as soon as I reach the starting point. The feeling of lying down doesn’t feel relaxing anymore, instead, it feels like rays of lightning inside my body are making me want to change position, only to change again and again.

I sleep on the bus. On the train, on the tram, and on the subway, even on cheap Ryanair flights with absolutely no space for my way longer than average body. In fact, I may relax so deeply that I start drooling on the shoulder of my neighbor. Most of the time it’s my husband’s, but not always.

So I have started imagining my Zs as evil little bastards that for some reason despise my bedroom, and live to mess me up. They make up for it by showing up at absolutely any other opportunity. In class. When I read. And don’t even get me started on mornings. It’s like they return after a hard night out partying, only to have invited a hundred more of them to an afterparty above my head. They’re physically holding me down. Tired is just not descriptive enough. I feel sick. I feel depressed. I feel like I’m dying. And the world is just not made for my kind of folks.

On the bright side, my asshole Zs make me sleep very lightly when I actually do sleep, which results in a number of vivid and complex dreams every single night. I remember them in detail, and I very much enjoy having my slightly overly developed imagination go wild, bringing me new stories every time I beat my enemy and actually drift off. It is indeed a useless and energy-consuming (oh, the irony) kind of sleep, but it is definitely interesting. Being a creative person, I often find them inspiring, and I try to write them all down.

I have of course found several tricks to beat my Zs. For some reason, these things seem to keep them where they should be for long enough to let me relax;

• Meditation apps, – but not all of them, and if I listen to the good ones too long, they stop being Z magnets

• The music from the original Blade Runner movie, – mostly successful, but the same goes here, – do not listen to it every night! If you learn every musical gesture by heart, the Zs will leave

• Counting, – not sheep, but breaths. Listening to one’s own breath can be very soothing and it’s difficult to get higher than about five hundred before you a) fall asleep, or b) get desperate and go nuts

• Staring at the inside of your eyelids, – this tends to work, but beware! Doing this for too long can make you see some weird and potentially scary LSD-like shit that might wake you up and leave you even more nervous and tense. This could definitely be something that just happens to me, I might be insane or possessed or something, but there is a chance I am not alone, right? Just say yes.

So, those were my tricks. Do them stealthily, so the Zs don’t realize that you’re putting them in a cage. Seriously, whistle unsuspiciously or something. Don’t underestimate them. They’re mean. At least mine are.

Ok, time for bed. Good night. Or, enjoy never getting those wounds that paralyzed people that lay still for too long get. While getting to know every little detail of your ceiling, accompanied by the snoring beast beside you. Every insomnia victim has an anti-insomnia sidekick.

Unfortunately, I’m the main character in this story.