Oh MY God. It's been one of those days. The worst part is, I can't even REMEMBER anything that I did before noon this morning. I feel vaguely as if I rolled out of bed at 8:30. And I think I had some nebulous plans to do some stuff or something. But that's all I got. Fortunately for me, at least, I did end up in the right classroom at noon for my Romanticist class, showered and (I think) even fed.

And I have a little secret here...for the past week or so, I was under the distinct impression that I was, as they say, the shit. I finished the first draft of my 20 page paper for that Romanticism class on Saturday, and was like "Party on, Kat. You now have two weeks to spiffy up this paper a little and churn out another 10 pager for Post-colonialism. But, as is plain, you are the guru of time management. You planned ahead. How thoughtful of you. Good thing for me that I'm you, because if I wasn't I'd *totally* want to be like you. Serious."

(okay, and it should be noted...as sort of a public advisory...that if you spend too much time in Starbucks, as I have lately, the daily repetition of the SAME holiday music in the SAME order will get to you, stealthily. You will feel like Bill Murray in Ground Hog day. Only you will realize that this is real life, and not a movie, and any claims you have ever had to self-actuated personhood will be slowly worn away as you develop the sneaking suspicion that someone, somewhere, is making you run through the same daily loop. And you will start to observe. And then you will start to observe yourself observing. And then you will get very, very bitter. And then you will drink your Peppermint Mocha.)

But all of that is besides the point. Because the real point is that after my class today I began once more to gaze into the existential abyss of self-doubt. (Which, all told, happens at least once during every paper writing cycle. For previous work on this topic, I'll reference you to...well, probably any blog I've ever written here in the first half of December or the later half of May. They're all the same.) But it's the same old story. All at once it hits you: "I. Suck. I have a draft, but it's CRAP. My idea isn't even that GOOD. None of it means ANYTHING. Oh my GOD. Why didn't I ever take up that man's advice and just move with him to his commune to eat carrots and grow pot? Or join a nunnery? Nuns don't have to write papers, if they don't want to."

So, no...considering everything, all of this isn't that bad. I'll probably wake up tomorrow with renewed enthusiasm and a conviction that whatever my paper is about, is just fine. And I'll also realize that it's not always advisable to create a life plan based on what homeless people in Berkeley tell you to do. And nuns well...they still don't have to write papers. Hmm.

But if I wake up tomorrow to "I Got You Babe" playing on my clock radio, all bets are off. And I will not be held accountable for my own actions.