MORON.
Seriously. Words do not describe my state of moronicity. I am below a moron. I am an idiot. (Wait, was a moron below an idiot? I think it was idiot and then moron and the whatever the third one was, think it began with a D, ah well there's a reason they don't use the terms in clinical psychology anymore.) I am a stupid ass lazy person with stupid ass lazy ways that ought be stopped.
However, since I know me, they won't be. As I am, in fact, me. And therefore, am, in fact, a moron.
Whyso am I a moron, do you ask? Oh ho, young wee and naive, cock an ear my way and I shall tell you.
See, I am what we like to call, in polite circles, a procrastinator. Less polite circles would call me someone who has her head in her ass but still can't manage to get her shit together. I might resent that last a touch, but it is true that my shit all seems to be unfairly magnetized against itself, or my shit is oil and water, as regardless of what I do or attempt (which, being a lazy ass, isn't much), the shit, she fails to coalesce.
Bear this fact in mind here, as my story gets better.
I have two major classes and one one hour class this semester. In these classes, I have two term projects that were due recently (one in fact, was due today and will play a part in my sad, sorrid tale), as well as a couple of exams and even (le gasp) a recitation of a French poem. (I chose L'Amour Est Un Oseau Rebel because I love Carmen and because the whole song is basically if "you don't love me, I'll kill you" only with French opera. Seriously, I adore the music of Carmen.) And was I prepared for any of these? HA! It is but to laugh.
Oh, no. I was not ready. I spent two nights up past three last week to finish my first term project (the results of which can be seen an entry or two back), and I was up past four today to finish the other. I have never before had that literal you look at the clock and it's 4:19 and then blink and look back and suddenly it's 6:03 and time to get up (to finish the term paper, as it hadn't -quite- been completed at four). It's a rather disconcerting notion.
And thus, I now drag my feet and find very little energy to do much of anything, here, some twelve hours after I originally fell asleep today. I did have a cuppa two of coffee and a Bawls, but I'm rather nervous that much more caffeine will mess with me a bit much, especially being that I somehow neglected to eat lunch today. Plus I want to save my other Bawls for an emergency. I may cave though and go for the extra Rockstar that I put aside.
But exhaustion aside (and seriously, why I ever, ever thought I could pull of all nighters like I did back in high school I shall never know, especially as when I was in high school I would celebrate all nighters by going for a laydown as soon as school got out at quarter past three and would have a nice long nap, an option that is, I ruefully state, not available to me at the moment. For reasons mysterious. I'm sure my boss would disapprove though.) there is one other, terrible and sad little detail to add to my tale of woe.
I have my first exam on Wednesday. Guess who hasn't started to study at all for this exam? Go on. Guess.
So this ought to be fun. We'll see how it goes.
Aaaargh.
Also, just in case anyone was wondering, all the films out of the Middle East that I have seen ever in my life have been sad, depressing, and usually depict awful events that I wouldn't wish on anyone. Go watch "Turtles Can Fly" and tell me that you don't start to cry, or see Osama and just feel the horror of her situation sink down to pool at the base of your spine. I'd like to see something out of the Middle East with a happy ending. You know. Just once. But I fear that this wish, much like my desire for creme brulee to magically appear by my right elbow every day around three-ish, is not one I'm like to have. At least, not any time soon.
However, since I know me, they won't be. As I am, in fact, me. And therefore, am, in fact, a moron.
Whyso am I a moron, do you ask? Oh ho, young wee and naive, cock an ear my way and I shall tell you.
See, I am what we like to call, in polite circles, a procrastinator. Less polite circles would call me someone who has her head in her ass but still can't manage to get her shit together. I might resent that last a touch, but it is true that my shit all seems to be unfairly magnetized against itself, or my shit is oil and water, as regardless of what I do or attempt (which, being a lazy ass, isn't much), the shit, she fails to coalesce.
Bear this fact in mind here, as my story gets better.
I have two major classes and one one hour class this semester. In these classes, I have two term projects that were due recently (one in fact, was due today and will play a part in my sad, sorrid tale), as well as a couple of exams and even (le gasp) a recitation of a French poem. (I chose L'Amour Est Un Oseau Rebel because I love Carmen and because the whole song is basically if "you don't love me, I'll kill you" only with French opera. Seriously, I adore the music of Carmen.) And was I prepared for any of these? HA! It is but to laugh.
Oh, no. I was not ready. I spent two nights up past three last week to finish my first term project (the results of which can be seen an entry or two back), and I was up past four today to finish the other. I have never before had that literal you look at the clock and it's 4:19 and then blink and look back and suddenly it's 6:03 and time to get up (to finish the term paper, as it hadn't -quite- been completed at four). It's a rather disconcerting notion.
And thus, I now drag my feet and find very little energy to do much of anything, here, some twelve hours after I originally fell asleep today. I did have a cuppa two of coffee and a Bawls, but I'm rather nervous that much more caffeine will mess with me a bit much, especially being that I somehow neglected to eat lunch today. Plus I want to save my other Bawls for an emergency. I may cave though and go for the extra Rockstar that I put aside.
But exhaustion aside (and seriously, why I ever, ever thought I could pull of all nighters like I did back in high school I shall never know, especially as when I was in high school I would celebrate all nighters by going for a laydown as soon as school got out at quarter past three and would have a nice long nap, an option that is, I ruefully state, not available to me at the moment. For reasons mysterious. I'm sure my boss would disapprove though.) there is one other, terrible and sad little detail to add to my tale of woe.
I have my first exam on Wednesday. Guess who hasn't started to study at all for this exam? Go on. Guess.
So this ought to be fun. We'll see how it goes.
Aaaargh.
Also, just in case anyone was wondering, all the films out of the Middle East that I have seen ever in my life have been sad, depressing, and usually depict awful events that I wouldn't wish on anyone. Go watch "Turtles Can Fly" and tell me that you don't start to cry, or see Osama and just feel the horror of her situation sink down to pool at the base of your spine. I'd like to see something out of the Middle East with a happy ending. You know. Just once. But I fear that this wish, much like my desire for creme brulee to magically appear by my right elbow every day around three-ish, is not one I'm like to have. At least, not any time soon.