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This is a question Procrastination

Outlook is a wonderful tool, but not when it keeps reminding you that it is now 96 weeks since you were supposed to finish a report you haven't even started yet.

Just how lazy are you? How long will you put off the essential or the inevitable? What do you fill the time with?

(We're too lazy to write something funny here. You do it.)

(, Thu 13 Nov 2008, 18:18)
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I spent Sunday at home, in my pants, doing nothing
...well, up until around 11pm. My phone rang, which is weird since nobody EVER calls me. It came up number witheld, and I normally don't answer those because it's either a) a survey or b) some credit card company telling me I owe them a king's ransom. But since it was a Sunday evening I figured it couldn't be either and picked it up.


"...hi....[my name]?"

"Yes? who is this?"

"It's Sarah"

Now Sarah was my first girlfriend who I haven't spoken to in exactly 1 year. While we parted on good terms, her choice to go and sleep with a married cocaine dealer shortly after we split meant I didn't really want anything to do with her. Given the fact that she lives in Birmingham and I live in Dover meant I didn't have to worry about bumping into her. Anyway, it was kinda weird getting a call from her out of the blue. As soon as she confirmed it was me she burst into tears.

"I've fucked up, I've fucked up so much. I don't know what to do any more."

"What's happened?"

"I've just fucked it all up! I'm scared. I'm frightened. I'm frightened. Come and see me. Now."

"What the hell are you on about? I'm in Dover."

"So am I."

Now by this point my stomach had sunk. I cannot put into words how much I've grown to loathe this girl in the year since we last spoke. I watched her go from being my first love to a bullying, lying, cheating, attention seeking slut and I actually shed a genuine tear of happiness the day we split because it felt like I was actually free at last. And now here she was, back out of the blue, 250 miles away from her home, demanding to see me. She'd had a habit of pulling the old damsel in distress routine when we were together, but that normally involved me going up to Birmingham to go and "rescue" her.

"What the hell? Where are you?"

"I'm on the seafront in my car. Can you get down here?"

And so, at half 11 last night I find myself walking the 40 minute trip from my house down to the beach. I'm absolutely frozen, half asleep and very anxious as to what's going on. I have to take the long way down to the beach, since being in Dover at night is only a good idea if you consider puncture wounds a fashion accessory.

So I make my way onto the promenade. Sarah had said she had the same car, which was a horribly garish shade of blue, so I was pretty sure I'd find it quickly. The promenade is about a mile from one end to the other, so I started to walk along, burying my head in my collar and pulling my hat down as much as I could to keep the cold sea air out. I was pissed off. Why couldn't she have just left me alone? Why did she have to drop her fat arse into my life again like a celulite nuclear bomb, and destroy the frankly wonderful life I'd made for myself since she left?

I made it to the end. Her car wasn't there. I checked all the side roads that branch off the promenade - nothing there. Now Dover only has one seafront - where the hell was she?

I keep calling her mobile but nobody answers. Was it a wind up? It was definitely her - I know her husky, whiney West Midlands drawl, and I could hear the horns of the ferries in the background when she called me.

Then, in an otherwise totally empty carpark, I see her car in the far corner. I walk up to it, my stomach feeling heavier with each footstep I took towards it. I approached from the rear, expecting to see the silhouette of her cheap nasty perm against the repeating glare of the lighthouse. No silhouette. She must have gotten a haircut. I went down the passenger side of the car - I walked all the way down here, the least the bitch could do is give me a passenger seat in the car with the heaters on. I bend down and look into the window. The driver's seat is empty. I look up and do a 360 turn of the empty carpark to try and spot her. Nothing. So I shout rather a loud expletive and head back to the beach.

So I try and find a shelter that wasn't filled with drunk, masturbating hobos, scootch up into a corner with my knees up into a foetal position to protect myself from the cold, and ring her phone again, and again, and again.

Finally, on my 23rd attempt, I hear a click and a hello. but it wasn't her; it was her mum, sounding rather pissed as I had apparently woken her up.

"Sarah called me. She said she was in Dover and asked me to come meet her at the beach, and she's not here! Do you know where she is? If this is some kind of joke it's not fucking funny."

"Who on earth is this?"

"It's [me]!"

"You awful, awful man!" She then burst into tears. I wasn't expecting that.

"Sarah died 4 months ago you bastard!" She slammed the phone down.

My head started spinning. My heart was pounding. Dead? I mean I hated her, but not that much. How did it hap...hang on.

Who the fuck called me? And why did they have Sarah's car?

I don't know why, but I felt the need to run as fast as I could back to the car park and check the car again. This was madness. Was it a dream? The stench of alcohol, weed and piss, the relentless November sea spray and driving wind slapping my face confirmed it wasn't.

I sprinted across the carpark and looked in the window again. She couldn't be dead. I spoke to her an hour ago. Her car was in front of me - it was all real.

Then, a hand on my shoulder. I feel nails digging into my skin.

I turn around and see a

Well, that killed half an hour. I should probably get back to work now.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 9:45, 26 replies)
You bugger.
That was ace.

Have a click.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 9:52, closed)
You jizz swoggling
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 10:04, closed)
Did you spill out
of monkeysex's hate thread by any chance? :-P
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 10:06, closed)
We need more posts like this!
There have been so many times when I've started to write something, then thought, 'nah, fuck it.' and deleted the lot, hurray!
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 10:07, closed)
I lolled
it made me almost spit my cola beverage.
have some clicks.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 10:13, closed)
That gets a click from me!
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 10:21, closed)
This, sir
is brilliant!

(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 10:36, closed)
I wanna know who it is.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 10:42, closed)
Have a click
That was brilliant!
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 11:06, closed)
cunt (noun) 1. taboo: You Sir
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 11:13, closed)
a what? a what?

(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 12:11, closed)
From one Dovorian to another
have a click. I left Dover about 5 years ago, glad to know punture wounds are still fashionable. People need cheap fashion tips in these credit-squeezed times.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 12:14, closed)
is rather excellent. Have a well earned *click*
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 12:21, closed)
that is all.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 13:03, closed)

(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 13:11, closed)
That was...
Fan-bloody-tastic! Perked up my Monday blues!
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 13:13, closed)
and have a click :o)
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 15:05, closed)
And I bow down to your swinging majesty.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 15:22, closed)
that was...
... fantastic. Now finish it...!

(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 16:42, closed)
Utter Git!
""Sarah died 4 months ago you bastard!" She slammed the phone down."

That had my arm hairs standing on end, and then you go and do that!!


(but you get a click!)
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 17:41, closed)
and you are a knob-jockey for doing that to all of us.
(, Tue 18 Nov 2008, 3:43, closed)
I hate you for making me click that.
(, Tue 18 Nov 2008, 13:48, closed)
*clicks like there's no tomorrow*
(, Tue 18 Nov 2008, 15:46, closed)
that made me go all cold and tickly

(, Wed 19 Nov 2008, 3:19, closed)
is the pearl of the current QOTW.
(, Thu 20 Nov 2008, 10:31, closed)
That's really fuckin' good!
Bloody hell!
(, Thu 20 Nov 2008, 17:01, closed)

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