The situation is this, readers:
In less than a week, I have a 15-page paper due in my 19th Century British Fiction class that, being worth a colossal 40% of my grade, is the factor that will decide what grade I get in that class. A couple months ago, I made a deal with myself that I would write two pages a week on that paper so that when it came to the due date, I wouldn’t be tearing my hair out and punching things in rage. You know how much I have written for that paper?
Nothing. Not a single word. I know, I’m a role model.