Whinging like a bitch

I'm bored; I swear I am one game of Tetris away from being the type of tool who dials the phone numbers of fictional people he sees in films. Its not that I don't have anything to do, quite the opposite, I have four essays to hand in soon. Very soon. And when I say very soon I mean VERY SOON. So the laws of procrastination dictate that I am absolutely not allowed to start them until the night before

but

guilt dictates that I can't actually enjoy any activity that isn't associated with getting the essays done. This limits my options too;
1. tenuously justifying every action as helping with my essay problem ("of course having a second wank in half an hour of the first is good for my essays, it aids my concentration")
OR
2. Doing sod all
The feeling I get when I think about them (or rather THEM) is akin to being invited on stage by a knife thrower, and as he straps you on the spinning death wheel, smelling bourbon on his breath.

The main problem isn't that I'm not very good at essays (although that is a fucking doozy) the real problem is that I'm better at making excuses than I have the will to do it.

*sigh* I will do them though, this degree is the longest I have stuck at anything longer than a year since school and it seems a shame even to me to have to pack it in because I cant be arsed to go to the library because that would involve getting out of bed before one.

Its now the next day and the librarians lunch break has driven me to the pub, it has taken two hours to do what I thought would take half an hour. You may not hear from me for a couple of weeks.