“I’ll just wake up at 4 and do homework then,” I said.

I have uttered these words countless times throughout college. Sometimes I replace homework with studying — I don’t get anything done regardless.

Some call it procrastination, yet I prefer to label this phenomenon as an irredeemable addiction to Netflix.

Anyone who’s ever read me will recognize my unhealthy obsession with movies and TV shows.

As a matter of fact, one of my first memories entails watching “The Mask,” starring Jim Carrey, on VHS.

Perhaps it wasn’t the most appropriate film to watch at age four, but I found the experience rewarding enough to turn it into a daily habit.

Nineteen years later, Netflix owns me.

All attempts to free myself from its clutch proved futile.

About two weeks ago, having binged yet another show faster than a senior in college with scarce free time should, I decided to keep away from the streaming service for as long as I could.

 It took one day for me to end up re-watching episodes of “How I Met Your Mother” I can recite with ease.

So, no — I did not manage to get up at four. Or at 5, 6, 7, 11, or even 3 in the afternoon.

I had spent all night indulging in my schoolwork’s thorn. At that point, it seemed to me that breaking any other routine seemed undemanding in comparison.

I had relapsed all over again. I woke up in shame, only to push play on the next episode.

Movies are no different. I learned a mere few months ago that my queue possessed a limit, and I could not push it any further.

The time had come to clear a few titles off that list, thus a day-long marathon began.

 A Bergman film about the melancholy of old age ended on a sour note, and I got ready to start the Will Ferrell-starred, dim-witted comedy “Casa de mi Padre.” Back-to-back animated films followed.

Ultimately, I went back to my roots and spent the next few hours engaging in Pokémon, related story telling, fully immersing in absolute bitter sweet nostalgia.

By the end of the binge-watching equivalent of a triathlon, a desperate need of rest filled my face muscles.

I promised myself I would go to bed right after the season three finale of “The League.”

If only they hadn’t made the season four opening available, I would have followed through on that promise.

Is it Netflix’s fault? Of course not; it’s all on me.

I triggered the unnatural anxiety that accompanies every waking hour I spend away from my laptop.

Does it hurt my studies? Just when I allow it to due to laziness and poor time management.

On a separate note, I got a Hulu account yesterday.