It turns out procrastination is not typically a function of laziness, apathy or work ethic as it is often regarded to be. It’s a neurotic self-defense behavior that develops to protect a person’s sense of self-worth.

You see, procrastinators tend to be people who have, for whatever reason, developed to perceive an unusually strong association between their performance and their value as a person. This makes failure or criticism disproportionately painful, which leads naturally to hesitancy when it comes to the prospect of doing anything that reflects their ability — which is pretty much everything.

But in real life, you can’t avoid doing things. We have to earn a living, do our taxes, have difficult conversations sometimes. Human life requires confronting uncertainty and risk, so pressure mounts. Procrastination gives a person a temporary hit of relief from this pressure of “having to do” things, which is a self-rewarding behavior. So it continues and becomes the normal way to respond to these pressures.

Particularly prone to serious procrastination problems are children who grew up with unusually high expectations placed on them. Their older siblings may have been high achievers, leaving big shoes to fill, or their parents may have had neurotic and inhuman expectations of their own, or else they exhibited exceptional talents early on, and thereafter “average” performances were met with concern and suspicion from parents and teachers.

…I squint at the script he is working on.

“What is ‘Monkey President’?”

He averts his eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

I grab the script and throw it at his chest.

“No, I want you to!” I say. “I want you to tell me about this art you do that is so meaningful it would make you miss the Shabbos!”

He flips through his script and sighs.

“It’s about a monkey who becomes President.”

I squint at him with confusion.

“How would this happen?”

“He wins an election.”

“So he is able to speak, this monkey?”

Simon throws up his hands in frustration.

“Do you really want to know? Or are you just trying to make me feel bad?”

“Yes,” I say. “I want to know how this monkey becomes the President.”

He sighs again.

“He wins a break-dancing competition on the Internet.”

“That makes no sense.”

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” he shouts, throwing the script down on the floor. “I told them in six meetings that it didn’t make any fucking sense, but they won’t listen, Herschel! They want the monkey to break-dance in every scene. In the Oval Office, on Air Force One…”