I've gotten to that stage of craziness in which you procrastinate so hard that you forget what activity it was that you were originally putting off. So I now get to wallow in a feeling of prolonged paranoia. Yay. Different notions of what I should be doing with my time keep bobbing up, like submerged apples: 'weren't we going to plan meals for the week?' 'How about that study you should be doing, hey?' 'Didn't we promise Grandad we'd iron some shirts?'
And yet I'm still here, on the internet.
Getting cabin fever pretty badly... but have no idea when or how to get out of my neighbourhood. (Ideally I'd like to go bushwalking, but it's really flipping cold out and I don't have anyone to go with. Scary serial killer thoughts will ever keep me from bushwalking alone.)
I've banned myself from watching any more Tom Hiddleston interviews today, because UNPRODUCTIVE, wow. (Also, I've hit that awkward stage of fandom in which I find wonderful things depressing. It's like that moment when you have to put a book down because you know you'll never be able to write so well, EVER.)
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