I have midterm notes to write about Old English Poetry, Anglo-Saxon England, Anglo-Norman England, and Chaucer. Chaucer and I don't get along very well at all. Truth be told, I don't like him. I'm all huddled at the kitchen table with a curtain of wet hair and one of my dad's old cardigans and an empty coffee cup. The pair of socks I'm wearing is beginning to have serious holes in them; I grieve. I would much rather be rereading good books and writing the paper I'm supposed to be researching for my class that just took place in Dublin . . .
I'm cooking tonight. And I have a stupid midterm tomorrow. I am feeling utterly pessimistic. Whine whine whine. Why do I write about whining? It is absolutely pointless except to mock myself. There are flies all around this room and they are bugging me to death. Oh, the pun. Can't wait till the first frost, really. Nasty little buggers all dead on the ground and then I will be free of the pestilence.
Things to do today:
2. Midterm Notes (must be done by 1830)
4. Dinner (start at 1830)
5. Reply to an Email (now you know . . . )
6. Order Textbooks
When put in a list, it doesn't look so bad, really. Some people don't think of it that way, but it works for a few of us. The dishes are easiest, then the laundry started. I can work on my midterm exam notes until it is time to make dinner, and then afterwards reward myself with the writing of an email to one of my friends. I think maybe some more coffee or some nice tea would totally get my head out of the plaster from the wall I've been banging it against and then I could turn on Dave Brubeck's Take Five and seriously get to work.
Weird, really--I do not have that hard a day at all, and it is nothing out of the norm. I just have to get up the motivation to do something about it, and that is what interrupts my actual work. I feel so childish when I get like this. How embarrassing.
It also might help if I stopped running at the fingertips here. Right. Off . . . of . . . blog . . . sign . . . off of . . . internet!