FOR EACH of the last three years, Procrastination and I had frolicked during blissful pre-study-card days. We could conduct our love affair openly when indecision, tardiness and class cutting were all temporarily legitimized-when making our bed and strolling to the Coop qualified as industrious activity. Yes, we were always an accepted couple during semester-starting periods, during the first two weeks when student sloth is as routine as newly-wed snuggle.

But this fall Procrastination and I broke up. In my new dormitory room. I found another fantasy fulfilling girlfriend. Organization cut a sleek figure in a three-piece suit and neatly applied makeup. Before we had even spoken to each other, she had me moving with feverish speed. Lists, lists, lists-I had to make lists: lists of room-filling objects to buy, of esoteric classes to see; lists of letters to write and applications to prepare. I gave her every list I had, but Organization still wasn't satisfied.

"Now that Procrastination is gone, you'll have to do better. The lists I'm helping you make are only the beginning."

"I guess the relationship should work for at least a couple of semesters," I muttered. "I need this. I may become anally retentive, but-"

"Believe me, we'll have those thesis pages leaping out of your typewriter." She spoke with a sergeant's authority. "Boom, boom, boom, first draft, second draft, third draft, completed by Christmas. Your little treatise will sparkle."

We rushed off to the Littauer stacks and started researching. For the first time in three years there, I found all the books I was looking for. Organization and I ran six miles each morning, painted the room, went to language labs, reupholstered the couch and began writing thank-you letters.

It was all very invigorating. And certainly. Procrastination and I had had rough times. At some point each semester, lots of people would start treating Procrastination like a scarlet woman. Professors would ignore her, lecturing as if Procrastination weren't sitting there with me, referring to ideas that I could have known only if I had prepared for the hourly.

EVEN MY BODY would have daily quarrels with Procrastination. At nine in the morning every morning-Procrastination would convince me that breakfast wasn't so very important. In relation, my stomach would attack us throughout the eleven o'clock lecture with sizzling pre-lunch hunger pains. Although I clearly remembered Procrastination's shortcomings, Organization was looking less attractive. She had me saving everything, even all those stupid Coop Charge receipts. "Why do we want a slip of paper with 'stationary' written on it twelve times?" She didn't answer until we started returning books. Procrastination and I had never saved anything but old newspapers and magazines, and somehow, they were always the only things we could find in the room when it came time to write a paper.

Organization hustled me off to Memorial Hall to get my I.D picture taken. "Don't smile." she said "it makes you look like a Mongoloid." I remembered Procrastination convincing me last semester that I really didn't need to replace that last I.D card, and for ten weeks, we enjoyed convincing all the librarians and gym curators to trust us.

Organization recited reading lists. Procrastination read movie reviews.

THE MORE Organization pressed me, the more I longed for Procrastination. But then, just when I thought Organization was going to become unbearable, she loosened up. In fact, she grew more and more like Procrastination. One day, she took me past the library, saying "Nancy, you should get your schedule in order before you do any more research. "So we became schedule experts. We spent an increasing amount of time listening to people talk about them: the "well-balance" schedules, the "requirement-reducing" schedules, "what the hell, I'm going for it" schedules.

Finally I noticed that Organization had written "do laundry" on my list for the fifth day in a row. And I realized that it wasn't her pristine itineraries but my fear of wearing that pair of smelly socks for the third time that finally made me collect my change and head for the basement-just like the old days with Procrastination!

In the laundry-room, Organization handed me another list, and then she started to giggle. The list said:

9:00 Turn off alarm. (Breakfast isn't so very important)

11:00: Throw on some clothes. Scrub teeth.

11:15: Look in the mirror and check hair-line. Try again. Spend a moment thinking about hair transplants. Check for any acne you could spend time washing.

11:20 Go to class or go down to the kitchen and steal a box of Grape Nuts.(The Globe has some good movie reviews.)

Organization bent over laughing. Then she stood up and wiped the rouge from her face with my freshly cleaned towel, and I realized that she was Procrastination. Organization had been only a grumpy Procrastination in tailored clothes and cosmopolitan make-up.

My God, I was glad to see Procrastination. I swore I'd never go back to that fascist air head Organization again. But Procrastination urged me to flirt with Organization. After all, for me Organization was only Procrastination in disguise.

Procrastination and I even developed a new game to make the flirting easier. We called it "Resolutions." It's quite simple. I just spend hours vowing to desert Procrastination. But during the whole game. I hug her very, very tightly.