h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

trolling for mp3s of obscure early 90s dance music to keep me awake, and trying to put off eating the reese peanut butter cups until i'm in desperate need of the sugar... yes, it's yet another all-nighter for an overdue term paper.

panic reigns supreme, though in my head it somehow translates to: "yes, you really need to find that armand van helden remix of that janet jackson song even though it might just be a rumour..." and "i should really check my email just in case someone sent me something since i checked it last... five minutes ago".

welcome to tuesday morning. paper due last friday, an empty page lies in front of me, begging to be covered by an interpretation of a derrida essay i barely understand. the ability to be concise is a cruel gift when it comes to long and boring academic papers, but somehow it takes a vacation when it comes to wasting time like this. death by irony.

i used to work well under pressure, but with two more papers and two more tests looming ahead within less than two weeks of NOW, the pressure is turning me into a rotting vegetable.

and i do mean ROTTING.

the choices ahead of me are so confusing that i've chosen to do nothing. i can either start writing this cursed (curs-ed she shouted, with a flourish of the hand and eyes rrrrolling snottily...) paper, but i'm too tired and smelly. i don't have the time to sleep. i would take a shower, which would be useful since it's been so long i forget what soap looks like, but the shower is so grimy pig-pen from peanuts could go in and come out worse... so i could clean the shower, which would make me more tired, more smelly, and inhaling cleaning chemicals won't help when it comes to writing a philosophy paper, despite the pot-head-acid-trippy reputation of philosophy majors. a wide array of useful choices...

yet somehow i have this strange yen to draw a twisted little character from powerpuff girls (sedusa?!), draw her a wide range of cut-out couture outfits, and dump her in my imaginary land of FRIPPIGONIA where she becomes dictator and i spend the rest of my life describing her psychological profile in microscopic detail, slowly deteriorating into a bug-eyed, radiation-soaked freak permanently stuck to this chair in front of my computer, increasingly smelly with a shower more distant and with more freakish wildlife than narnia...

I think Douglas said it best when he described what it is like when he tries to write:

Writing is easy. Just sit and stare at a blank piece of paper until your forehead bleeds.

I dont know if this is of any help . . .

~Beebllyfishy

that sounds rather messy. besides, none of my writing comes out of my forehead. not regularly anyway. i don't think there really is any regular exit door for my ideas, they kinda spring up on me by surprise, like an evil mother-in-law would. or they call at 8am on a sunday, asking to go to the park and frolic while i'm still dreaming of dancing potatoes and a spatula named "Igor".

then again, if i sat here and stared at a blank piece of paper, while slamming my head against the desk until my forehead actually bleeds, i could get a hospital note and maybe get out of the assignment altogether...

so yes, it did help...
thanks!

wild life wild life what ever happened to you? wild life animals in a ..... my favorite wings release never seen it on cd love is strange ... do like whats in your wardrobe now where was that street lamp?