If they gave out awards for excellence in procrastination, I would no doubt sweep the event, but most likely I would not attend the ceremony because I could do that some other time. Maybe after one more game of Who Has the Biggest Brain on Facebook.

I do not stand alone, however. Just like Michael Phelps would not have achieved the record of eight gold medals without his relay teammates, I would not be so apt at procrastinating if it wasn’t for my wife, whose skill in the non-activity closely matches mine. She was the woman who gave birth after a 15-month pregnancy, and I still remember that magical moment like it was yesterday, holding my baby in my right arm, and letting my wife hold my left. Tears of joy rolled down my cheek as my wife whispered, “See? I told you I would get around to it.”

I can’t say I’m proud though. My acts of delay have allowed me to betray those around me, particularly those who believed I could churn out a piece of writing every day. And to them, I apologize. I can’t say that it won’t ever happen again, but I promise that come the next time procrastination awards are handed out, I will try to kick less ass.