To the right of my laptop is one of three Philosophy readings (Pascal's Wager, James' Will to Believe, and Chapter 9 "Death" in Making Sense of It All) I must obliterate before 8 o'clock Wednesday morning. Under my desk is an English notebook containing several outlines and a prompt sheet, scribbled with green ink, ready for when I undertake the task of writing my paper, due at 10:30 that same Wednesday. So as I contemplate the actions that must be carried within the next 29 hours, I type contentedly away at this blog, musing on musing about momentous activities. And yes, that clause is irritating to repeat.
With my cousin nonchalantly chatting away with her boyfriend of several hours, I find myself idle, unwilling and unable to read about what Pascal has to say regarding the existence of the omnipotent God of Christians. The subject of it is irrelevant in this context, but perhaps it would help to mention that the presence of a bright green post-it on the first page leaves me helpless and incapable of continuing on with the assignment. Ah, woe is me.
But now I am curious. Why does procrastination choose to attack at a moment when time is free and generous? Why are my work ethics and motivation inversely proportional to the hours left before my figurative academic hanging?
Blah. This must end. There are essays that need invasive analysis.
And if you did chuckle at that last sentence, do know that I appreciate your existence.
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Minor Fall
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- The Humansong
- A song sung to convince someone to love you... Every humansong is as unique as a fingerprint. When you open a window in the spring, the air is sometimes filled with them. --Nicole Krauss