My forearms are resting - more like lazily propping - themselves on the edge of the desk while my tired hands and wrists try to keep diligently typing. I have to read 'The Playboy of The Western World', write a Reading/Analysis/Discussion paper on it, write a reaction/comparison on the idea of meals in literary works as communions to an example from a book. And all I can think of is Twilight and New Moon [the two books I've most recently read through], which I don't think will impress my literature teacher [not that I should care anyway]. Oh and I have to do another reaction/comparison on how Shakespeare is alluded to in an example of choice [Again, all I can think of is New Moon, but the allusion is the opposite of subtle and I'm not sure if that's what she wants].
Anyway, I am not at all excited to do all this by 11am on mardi.
Do you know, I don't even enjoy the smell of coffee anymore? What I mean is- I don't even think about the smell anymore. I just... want to drink it. I've been drinking it so much lately, it's become more of a ritual than something I do because I really enjoy the experience. Which is sad, so maybe I should stay away from coffee for a while. It's a choice; I feel sometimes I am incapable of addiction. Addiction to drugs because I avoid them completely. Addiction to coffee because I've never noticed a physical reaction to caffeine anyway. I don't think anyone can be addicted to food though because it is a necessity to the body. I'm jibbering, and I could erase the bit of it, but I don't want to. Thoughts are precious, even silly ones.