Neža's POV
I wouldn't say I was a massive procrastinator. I liked to plan things. Maybe I liked to overplan things, but it helped me keep my sanity. That's how I ended up with a thesis that was structured from the abstract up until the conclusion. I found a relevant anecdote for the introduction, found all the articles I needed for the literature review, structured per topic per argument. I collected all the data and finalized the regression in SPSS. I knew what to write in the discussion and the conclusion ...which was exactly what stopped me from wanting to write. The excitement was gone. In my head, I had everything written out. I just had to put it on paper. It was a boring task. A task that I didn't mind extending until just before the deadline when my supervisor wanted to receive my first draft. It gave me more time to relax, hang out with friends, pick up extra shifts at the coffee shop I worked for some extra cash. And it had led to me having four days to finish a complete thesis.
I knew I had to grind to meet the deadline. But when your mind thinks faster than your fingers know how to type, it was hard not to get distracted. Especially with my phone right next to me, which I needed for the instrumental music playing through my headphones that was supposed to help me focus. Or just the fact that I had to write it on my laptop, and I needed the internet to look up the sources I needed. I was just one click away from checking out the news, or checking the latest additions to my favourite online clothing store. At least my coworkers seemed to know exactly when I needed a refill of my large non-fat flat white with a single pump of sugarfree hazelnut syrup. Call me obnoxious, but it was the only thing that was gonna keep me going today.
"Girl, give me your phone." I looked up to find Zara hovering above me. Zara and I started working together in the Ljubljana coffee shop around the same time, and quickly we moved from being coworkers, to being work besties, to her being one of my closest friends.
"I was using it for research." I argued, although I must've looked like a kid who got caught with her hand stuck in the cookie jar.
"Your research, for your thesis on what was it again? The price of personal data in the digital economy, requires you to watch reels?" Zara asked sceptically.
"Technically I'm actively participating in the research." I tried to reason before laughing and handing her my phone. "Just put it behind the counter. If it's in the back my headphones will disconnect from the bluetooth."
"Just make sure you finish that thesis on time. I'm not covering any more of your shifts." I playfully rolled my eyes at her stern tone. The last semester I had frequently covered her shifts, while I only asked for her to cover two of mine while I finish the first draft of my bachelor's thesis.
"I'm making good progress, you know." I pretty much had the introduction and the literature review ready. It needed some shaping, of course, which I planned to do tomorrow when I could reread the text I wrote with a clear head.
Once Zara headed back to work I was fully focused on my thesis again. The words seemed to flow out of me, for about an hour, when the distractions started to kick in again. But seeing as I was ahead of my schedule and it was almost dinner time, I headed back to my apartment in the Ljubljana city center.
The next day, and the day after, I spent another eight hours at the coffee shop to work on my thesis. I faced the same struggles as the day before, distractions hitting me every couple of hours, but I was happy with the amounts of words I managed to put on paper.
The day of the deadline I spent in the university library instead. I had finished the draft except for the abstract yesterday, so the day was mostly spent rereading everything, adding clarification where needed, fixing grammar, fixing typing errors, just perfecting the document so hopefully the feedback of my thesis supervisor would be limited.
It was a little past 3 P.M. when the classical piano music playing through my headphones was replaced with my ringtone. It must be my mom, or dad. Not a single one of my friends was the type of person to call instead of text. The team manager at work sometimes did when they needed a shift covered last minute, but he knew I was busy with my thesis, so I doubted it'd be him. I grabbed my phone from my bag, my phone almost automatically heading to the accept button, but quickly backing away when I saw it wasn't my mom that was calling me. Hell no. This wasn't happening, not today, not right now.
Incoming Call: Bojan Cvjetićanin
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A/N
First chapter done :)
Thank you for reading <3
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I Shouldn't Have | Bojan Cvjetićanin
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