The Bed of Procrustes, Revisited

I've been pussyfooting around a task for a week now. This ain't good. My excuse is that the glare from the monitor is enervating, and when dealing in work I wish I didn't have to do, this enervation is simply too much to take. I know, of course, that I have to plow through it anyway. So I'm getting out my trusty wad of paper and doing it there.
...

Of course, Procrustes and his bed have little to do with procrastination. But for all the work I've not done, I might as well be tied to the cursed thing. If you were too tall, Procrustes gleefuly cut off your offending limbs. If you were too short to fit the bed, he stretched you mercilessly until you did.