radfrac_archive_full

The restless emptiness of a school night. I can't settle to anything. Can't concentrate on a movie. Sat down to write and couldn't conceive that any words might ever have come out of me and into that bland funnel of screen. I copied out some notes I'd made from the books GMRB! Prof loaned me. I studied these heavily in my desperation to make a queer reading of "A Midsummer Night's Dream". I even read over my class notes in a perfunctory way, which I can't remember ever having done in my life.

I glanced at my essay to get the bibliographical reference for one of the books (I like to put these at the top of my notes files so that I can return the book and keep the reference) and discovered a COMMA SPLICE in the last paragraph of my essay.

You cannot conceive. I knew I was tired, but it's like forgetting my own name. Any error but this. It's as though I stapled a cockroach to my paper. To my TONGUE. I feel ill.

Remembered just in time that dancing about au lunatic tends to help the mood fairies locate one, so I danced about a bit to the merrie tunes of the CBC podcast, and indeed was refreshed. And of course there is my maxim: If you can't do anything else, you can probably do the dishes.

So I have filled up the sink with hot soapy water, and am posting to Livejournal.

( In which our hero is inspired, though to no immediately productive end )

{rf}