Burning the midnight oil

The Primetime special is awesome (currently in progress), although I could never hear Sean Astin whinging about his weight again and it would still be too soon.

Have run through chapters 1-3 of Black Ribbon to turn in to Watson; there a few odds and ends I have to tuck in, but I'll worry about that in the morning.

The big item on the agenda tonight is the twelve-page paper. Really, this is an ideal assignment--Dr. Quinlan doesn't really care about length or sources, just write what you want to say and make sure it's generally long enough and that you poke some sources in there, no big. And yet... I Do Not. Want. To Do It. So a couple of hours ago, I read over the Yeats material I'll be using (I still can't remember which Heaney poems have Greek mythological allusions)... and took an hour and a half's nap. And then Primetime was on. I'm probably going to be up much of the night, you know. But lately that's how my schedule's been skewing--sleep really late, stay up later--so it's not too much of a hardship. I hate pushing things to the last moment, and yet I can't really light a fire until that moment comes. But after tomorrow noon, when I turn everything in, it's all over.

Well, except for the exam on Monday and the other portfolio on Wednesday. (Shhhh! Let me dream.)

Paper-induced dementia

[Creeps downstairs, opens cupboards, fridge--nothing.]

Where is it, precious? Where are all the snackses?

Gone, gone, gone! Stupid fat parentses ate all the snackses!

No! No sugar cookies? No E.L. Fudgeses? No crunchable chipses?

[Wailing] They don't care if we starves! They don't care if we sits up all night writing stupid nassty term paper! They eats all the snackses their fat selves! Oo, croutons.

No!

[Wily look] Cinnamon toast?

Is it tasty? Is it--crunchable?

If we cooks it long enough, yes, precious.

[Dances around kitchen in glee.]