how is that i seem to have hours upon end to fill with nothingness, yet in the end of the day i feel like i have no time at all, like the list of things i want to read and need to write just slowly add their weight to my eyes and hands? i've been barely making it through reading Amerika, a fairly easy read; it's been 2 weeks and i'm only about half way done. i'm neglecting my thucydides reading more than i should, i have to write my humanities paper (contrasting homer and herodotus' respective views on how the gods play a role in war in ancient greece and thus how herodotus ultimately sees the truth and reality in human agency), i have tons of books i want to read for fun, i have to come up with an extended bibliography for my spanish research paper (mercifully, i am allowed to write it in english) comparing the trichotomy of heaven/earth/hell to that of the three levels of existence of Comala in Pedro Paramo, i (feel like i) have to constantly be writing and working on some story i've got going or other...
but when it comes down to having time to do these things, i throw a blanket over my head and pretend like almost nothing exists. i just look at the clock and wonder what would really happen if it just stopped.
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fill me with apples, i am lovesick
bullet proof...i wish i was
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