Ah, I just want to get on with my life. Today WILL NOT END. This paper DOES NOT SEEM TO WANT TO GET WRITTEN. Friday is my reprieve. Just a few more days...
Mentioned one day in psychology was a concept called 'emotional intelligence.' Part of that was being able to hold a range of emotions and deal with them well, even at the same time. Well, I seem to be either a genius or incredibly stupid, because right now I'm feeling either an assortment of anxieties, disappointments, positive surges of confidence, pangs of loneliness, irritation, depression, intellectual curiosity and exhaustion, or absolutely nothing at all. It's hard to tell at this point.
Getting somewhat bloated. Eating too much.
I have this terrible longing for the cello, but for once, it's not laziness that's keeping me from the practice room. I've never struggled so much with a paper in my entire life. It's not even that hard--I have a great thesis, plenty of sources, proper citations, and great ideas. Hell, it's half-written in my head. But I seem to have writer's block.
FML.
The pigeon shit on the turtle, but still wants to hover around and build its nest on the turtle's back. The turtle just moves on, since he's the digging sort and has a hole to dig. He gets to his chosen spot and finds the soft sand infested with red ants, and a horse nearby nibbling his garden.
We expect three funerals this weekend; the pigeon, the horse, and some guy named Bob. Services will be held on Saturday due to the rioting rabbits expected on the streets this Sunday.
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