douche

This week (slash by Friday at 4pm) I have to write an essay about the problem of 'female beauty' in Alexander Pope's 'The Rape of the Lock' and another essay about the relationship between adulthood and childhood in Songs of Innocence and Experience (I think - I have yet to plan this essay so it is, helpfully, subject to change). So far today I have set my alarm for eleven, woken up at one, faffed around since one, and continued to faff by writing this post. I need to be in uni by quarter to seven at the latest this evening to be in charge of a FemSoc film night. Afterwards I will probably eschew continued social contact on the grounds of work then come home and faff around then go to bed late. Tomorrow I have two lectures and a seminar for which I need to do a buttload of reading. The day after I have CBT, which is early, but draining; the following day the English department is on strike, which is nice, but makes Friday hell because I have to do the lectures/seminars I missed as well as the ones I am scheduled for. One of the ones I am scheduled for requires that I read Letters written in Sweden, Norway and Denmark beforehand. Once again, I hate myself for leaving everything too late and sacrificing my creative freedom for what only amounts to a grotesque lack of discipline. Obviously I am doing nothing to help the matter by whining on here. Argghhh. ARG.