the Dalaverse

::frowns:: I have got to stop pulling the metal lids off the Chef Boyardee over in the corner by the trashcan. Bowie is safe because he's too high up, but everybody else is fair game. I've splatted Johnny's tank top, more than once and tonight I caught Belushi on the chin. Dignified posters don't deserve that, man.

Also, this icon rocks and makes me happy in the "Goonies" place.

Well, here I am again, procrastinating instead of starting another paper that's due in less than twenty-four hours. Although to be fair, I so totally had the Port Royal paper started and mostly finished by the time I went to bed Sunday night. Tuesday? Not so much. I have confidence it was better than the last paper, though.

This one...I just cannot summon up the energy to give one flying fuck about Mary Shelley's no doubt fucked up ideas, concious or un, about birth and generation. Her mother died in childbirth and she gave birth to several children before she turned 21 only to see them die. That's how we got Frankenstein ::shrugs:: Or part of it anyway. Why did I think this was a good paper topic? I just don't know. I just don't care. The Godwins and the Shelleys were not nearly as interesting as Richardson made them out to be, and Mary was even my favorite.

Gahhhh.

This remix of the most vital scenes from all the past "Lost" episodes is pretty cool. It's kind of like a vid of the show itself. I don't know who the narrator is, but good voice.

I dunwanna write my paper! I dunwanna!

So haven't written a damn word. Wandered out into the common room for some ice cream two hours ago and never came back in. Listened to Yukiko and Mark and Michelle gripe about med school interviews, fascinated by this foreign language, then watched "The Daily Show" with Gwen, who told me to WRITE MY PAPER ALREADY.

I am horrible. Horrible, horrible, horrible.

I'll feel more creative at 7:00 in the morning, I'm sure of it.