I had a lot of stuff to do last week. From Monday through Friday, my commitments piled up, until I had no spare time and no spare energy.

Why didn’t I have energy? Because I stayed up doing my homework until the early hours of the morning, then dragged myself out of bed at 6 a.m. in the name of responsibility.

It seemed like too much of a risk, as someone who is committed to ending the plague of procrastination that has tormented her for years, to put off my homework until the morning of the day it was due.

Despite having that extra four or so hours, it seemed as if putting myself in a tempting situation like that would be to risk a complete and utter backslide back into the wasteland of wasted time. You don’t just give an addict an excuse to relapse.

I am well aware that some day in the not-so-distant future when I’m an English teacher, I’ll have to wake up early, probably even earlier than 6:00 a.m., but at this stage in my life, it’s just not logical. Maybe people who have it together do wake up that early, or maybe they’re realistic and put sleep they actually need over the extra waking hours they don’t.

I was too tired to do anything that early. I woke up for around an hour, then fell back asleep by accident multiple times. It wasn’t a useful homework time, it wasn’t a useful anything time.

If any good came of it, it was that I got to shower super early and go to class without wet hair, but I only washed my hair twice last week due to an unforeseen hair dye tragedy, so any benefit I unlocked was minimal at best.

The only one who got any enjoyment out of it was Jenna, the friend who gave me a wake up call multiple days in a row from Spain, and her pleasure was derived completely from the knowledge that I was suffering.

I’ve reached the conclusion that if a girl isn’t willing to do her work the morning of, then there is absolutely no reason to get up so early. There are about a million reasons not to, the nine hours of sleep I got last Tuesday through Friday being number one.

Despite the utter worthlessness of the past two weeks’ endeavors, I’ve noticed I’ve been relying on my planner in a borderline obsessive way to get me through the week. I said previously that overscheduling wasn’t for me, but I think it’s kind of working.

I didn’t have jack-squat to do on Sunday night, a time normally reserved for cramming a week’s worth of assignments and work into six hours of frantic typing and near-panic. I’ve begun to think of myself as someone isn’t destined to an eternity of lateness and apologies.

This week I’m going to eat three meals a day, every day. Isn’t that something I’m already doing, you ask? No, it is not. I, along with half the college students on this planet without meal plans, am absolutely terrible at eating normal portions of prepared food consistently.

I’m more likely to eat a whole jar of peanut butter in one sitting than I am to eat three meals a day, so this will be a massive change.

Does it work? Is this the week I turn myself around for good? We’ll find out. It’s a desperate world out there folks; stay on top of it.