Why must life be filled with many, many deadlines? And why is it that my answer is most often the lack of time to do the things I need and want to do? Or why is it when I am pressed for time, particulary on a deadline for a paper, I start a manic organizing and cleaning the room? Maybe to de-clutter my head? Just a habit of procrasitination, right? Right.
Today's task is must read several criticisms on Frankenstein for a couple of hours before Theory class; After theory 1 class, attend a conference workshop at 7:30 pm; then walk home, make dinner and try to finish the readings for Thurs. I am feeling guilty for spending more time on theory courses than my lit class -- we are watching a film for that class, which is why I feel rather slack; what I ought to do is begin the Henry James novel for the next week so that I won't fall behind, as usually the case!
I always seem to be scrambling -- and why do I beat myself over the head when I quite obviously choose to make plans this weekend and watch Capote and Batman? Silly, silly whiner. So okay, I absolutely need to get some work done before I reward myself with these films.
Diss in 15 says if I write everyday for 10 min and increase time gradually, I will establish my "writing addiction" -- of course, whiny rants do not count. BUT, once preliminary research plans start rolling around, uh, like next week, I will start spilling a bit more on possible topics.
current music addiction: Ladytron's Witching Hour.
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