Thursday, April 29, 2004
As that old time song (re)plays on the laptop stereo, I get burnt out doing nothing significant. I'm feeling it now even as I type. Or rather, I felt it just and so am typing. I'm busy all day, yet I don't feel like I have accomplished anything worthy. No satisfaction, no sense of brimming pride. I sense piling deadlines revision plans project obligations inch ever so menacingly closer from behind. I think I'm stressed; I am typing this not working on some other more urgent task at hand. Irony doesn't get any more blatant than this. The bottomchunk grades of a recent test prick me to no end, yet I'm not as motivated as I need to be. I probably would head to bed soon, the act purely to cement into reality this wasted night.
