April 19th, 2005



Dear All Nighter,

Call me Ishmael, and yo mama.

I hate you. I want to spit in your face. You're the canker in my rose, the worm in my apple, the wet in my socks. You are everything that is wrong. How I loathe you. Please die.

Antipathy and Abhorrence,



Dear Self,

How is it that, without procrastination, you've ended up at the all nighter point? You've actively worked on this before now. You haven't just set aside the paper, and left it to rot like so much paper in a rainstorm. You've -- tended it. Cultivated it like a garden, and done all of your reading for other classes, and all of your papers and the like, as well. How, on God's GREEN EARTH, did you think that this much work was really worth it for this semester?

Self, I say, you are a damn fool.

Disappointment and Exhaustion,

  • Current Music
    Hey Jealousy - Gin Blossoms (God, I love comfort music)

Allnighter part 2

Pages written: Many. But not enough. God, never enough!
Huge revisions left to be done: At least two.
Knowledge of subject matter: Apparently, sketchier in places than I had thought.
Needs: Warmth, food, sleep, food, cigarettes, sleep, food, sleep, food, cigarettes, sleep, food....you get the idea.
Ability to meet any of those needs: Food is out, cigarettes are out, and can't seem to get warm. Don't even go there with sleep.
Amount of coffee consumed: God it feels like I've had had nine hundredy billion million cups of coffee.
Eyes: Wide and staring.
Stomach: Rolling over and over, alternately telling me I'm nauseaus and that I want food.
Hours until class: Five.
Panic level: Defcon Seven.
  • Current Mood
    envious envious