Betrayal

 And as I continued to type meaningless words into the chat window, the guilty glance to the bottom right corner of the screen gave me a relief. 5:47 pm. Still far from six o clock, the self stipulated stipulated time for me to switch over, from the digital screen I am currently looking at to the fresh pages of my books that beckoned to me so lovingly and unceasingly. 13 more minutes to waste. I still am uncertain whether round figures really are an auspicious a time to start ones work as students make it out to be or it is simply a farce designed to fool the self into buying a few extra minutes without stinging too far into the conscience. And I will never know. Smoke screens to save yourself from the embarrassment of answering to your own mind are rarely blown that easily. 
A double standard you see. I know I need to study, I know I will eventually kick myself before sleeping for unnecessarily and so deceptively biding the hours in fruitless exercises. It is 7:08 pm right now for your information. I am not one to waste time. It was all planned, I blog till 7.30, and then get back to my books. The quest for a round number. 
If excuse making were a talent, we would all steal the prize for it. The biggest excuses in our lives are to ourselves. Procrastination is never unjustified to the self. In every instance of the postponement of a task, we serve to ourselves with an excuse. A so called reason for the absence of immediate action. What is to stop me, or all of us for that matter, to start jobs at odd times.Why do we set our alarms at round figures? Or at wacky times designed to wake us up at a round figure? Superstition? 
Round figures are a nice to way to get round things. I thought I shall start at 4, but since its already 3 minutes past 4, I might as well get done with this all important and crucial computer game and start at 4.15. And before you know it its 4.17. 
As humans, we always strive for the linear. The logical, the practical. We like cubes with six faces to decide money. Or coins with two sides to settle disputes. But the world is spherical, there is no face to it. Nature is never built in straight lines. Our obsession with round figures perhaps is something to do with that. The numbers repeat a zillion time over in tens. And two fives fit in neatly to make a ten. Human beings find comfort on the definite faces, the flat edges. It is not an inherent natural instinct. It is an acquired malady. Acquired over centuries of aiming for the linear. The perfect. 
And now the bottom right of my screen tells me it is 7:29. So I will cease to lengthen this post and give my books the pleasure of my company at an auspicious round figure.