...had such a strong desire to not write a paper. It's due tomorrow morning, 10:50. And it's for Hackney. I wrote my worst paper for him last year, and got an A. It really was a fantastically horrid paper, which is why I'm not very inspired to write this paper tonight. I've got three of the ten pages written, and I fear that it might (once again) be a long night of bs-ing. On the other hand, if you want to have a Jungian or Freudian analysis done on your childhood to examine how present the Oedipus complex was, give me a shout. However, if you actually did kill your father and marry your mother, I don't want to hear it.
Why am I taking a psych minor anyhow? Will someone be good enough to tell me that?
The only happy things right now are:
1. The chocolate that Dan just brought me
2. the Mulled Cranberry drink from Second Cup (found a package of it in my drawer...)
3. The prospect of being finished all of my papers by the time I go to sleep tonight/tomorrow morning
4. the soothing sounds of MWS's first Christmas album coming out of the speakers