the chocolate is gone.
the hotwater bottle is lukewarm.
i've forgotten what sentence structure is.
i'm bitchy.
i've got a 2844-word log at the moment; i will easily surpass 3000 words. i am not an over-achiever; i am too tired to edit.
i am writing about yeats.
then joyce.
then beckett.
then heaney.
then some contemporary irish short stories.
then onto my story.
you see, this is not really procrastination in its purest form. noooo, i've read all i was required to read. i simply kept the log in my head for too long, and now i'm forced to take it out of my head and put it into microsoft word format, so that i can email it as an attachment to my poor professor tomorrow, who will then have to grade it at the last possible moment before her grades are due. okay, so this is pure procrastination.
but that luxury has passed. procrastination no longer exists. forget midnight oil: i am burning the 3 am coal.
Annie, It's been a few hours... Are you still mostly alive?