I don't want to write my Russian fiction paper that was due earlier today, two and a half some hours ago. I still have not even thought about. I have not asked for an extension. I have just decided to grant myself one, that I will turn it in bright and early tomorrow morning with a kind little note for Schatz.
I am in Drew Geer's room right now while Bonnie is watching some cheesy lesbian movie. His walls are so white, I can hear the muffled sound of traffic on US 41 a hundred some feet away and I cannot think, do not in fact even want to. I want to play. I want to take a break from the paper I have not even started and run outside, dash home, make myself curve comfortably into the couch, drink some wine and watch the bad lesbian movie with Bonnie.
I am in love with all of this, the delays, the protractions, the doings, Forty fucking One. I am going to try to write a formal paper, to follow Miriam Wallace's advice and lose my colluquial voice that I tend to adopt when writing papers. We will see how this goes. Okay, time to start working, here we go, I'm really going to start. On the count of three: one, two, three!