Dear Professor,
I apologize, but I have been edging my essay and I don’t wanna stop.
It’s going to be a little sexual for a second, but this is my blog and I get to do whatever I want. I’m not your pet.
Why does edging carry a positive connotation if it’s merely procrastinating your pleasure? Procrastination is identical yet hated upon. When I procrastinate, it’s not a bad habit or something I need to correct. It’s pleasure. It’s my kink. It’s building the anticipation within me as to maximize the bliss when it comes out. I feel sexy when I accomplish my goals. Let me ride the wave, feel it all, add stress and sweat to the process. It’s gonna feel sooooo good when it’s over.
I think I’m lying to myself a lot these days and it’s fucking up my life a little bit. Whatever. I’m not finishing anything except into him. Again. and Again. and Again. I’m certainly not finishing any essays.
There are some things in life you let go of forever and others you just set down for a while. You never know which is what until it happens. I quite smoking vs. I’m quitting smoking. I’m edging vs. it’s not gonna happen tonight. Learning vs. failing. What are we? And what should we be? I don’t want to finish my essays because it means it will be over – and what will I have to show for myself? It’s so hard when the tangible result is yourself.
I’m in no rush to get anything done. You see, the world has already ended. Professor, I’m sorry but I forgive myself for turning in my essay months late. I forgive myself for edging all night instead of working on saving the world. I forgive myself for making the McEconomy go brrrrr and losing myself to dancing and debauchery each weekend. I forgive myself for writing a perverse blog that renders me unemployable. I forgive the homophobes and the queers who hate fun and I forgive the bouncers when they turn me away. Have a lovely evening.
I’ll do better next time I promise. I love you. Do you still love me? What if I edged you a little longer?