all of us are done for

Whenever I try to do my homework (what little I have this semester) I fail.

I clean instead. I organize. I clean out my Gmail inbox. I sort things. I read. But I read what isn't productive for class. I make calendars. I think about taking another shower. I refill my water bottle. I reapply my chapstick. I contemplate the meaning of life. I take personality tests. I think about texting my bestie. I type things into my blog that I immediately erase because it's too late and my mind can't really function all that well. I listen to the "Garden State" soundtrack and remember times in my life which have changed quite dramatically. I think about different things I can do with my life for the next few years. I try to convince myself that it's okay Kappa only lasts four years. I try to plan my next trip to Lawrence. I think about how my weekends are slowly all filling up with things and that this semester will go by faster than any other semester of my life. I look for new cell phones. I research fun clothes that I wish I could have. I contemplate a tatto (and brainstorm the possibilities) or nose piercing. I stare at my homework, wondering where I went wrong.

You'd think that since I am in three dance classes, a theatre class, and an english class that I would actually have motivation for the minimal amount of homework I have. You would be severely incorrect.

It's not that I am not interested in my homework. In fact, this is one of very few classes I have enjoyed during college. And, yet, nothing is completed.

Oh, late nights. You are terrible for my small mind.

Good night, moon.