I don't want to write this paper. I want this paper to be written, I want to just pour all the shit that I know is IN my brain out onto the paper and have it be done.

But I don't want to write this paper. I want to stare out the window at the pretty, shifting clouds being windswept over the trees, and read Brave New World again, and look through every one of these books about World War One in minute detail, especially the Illustrated History, and wander around the library, and think up new stuff to do with my character, and write on my hands, and basically do ANYTHING but write this paper. Including type up this blog.

It's back to that old thing, where my brain refuses to tie itself down, and finds every possible way to distract itself, including staring at the fucking screen for hours, typing one sentence every five minutes. [it probably doesn't help being off meds though]

What the fuck, brain.