Just to warn you, this essay is a little bit off the norm. I'm not talking about travel or place or my family or, um, anything respectable. Instead, I'm going to talk about a subject that makes me squirm with shame. I'm going to talk about procrastination -- and specifically, teachers who procrastinate -- and specifically, me.
Honestly, I wasn't even going to post this. I wrote the bones out as a sort of therapy-kickstarter-thing, and to put it on the internet seemed self-indulgent. But my friend Shari (a magical creature who is good at words and feelings and making me feel like a loved human being) seemed to think would be okay, so here it is.
(Does recognizing something as self-indulgent and doing it anyway make it less self-indulgent, or more?)
