what are you going to do about it that's what I'd like to know

I am listening to Paul Simon's song "Gumboots" (lyrics) on repeat, as loud as I can justify in my headphones in the library. I feel that this song accurately reflects my emotional state, which is to say: I haven't eaten since midnight, when I consumed a large bag of Maltesers and two bottles of tab. This kept me awake until I finished the aforeposted essay, after which I conked out for three hours before waking up at 8 to return my three-hour loan to the library by 9. Since then I've been sitting in the computer labs editing the final product and trying to cut a 4,000 first draft of a totally different assignment down to the absolute-maximum-2000 words. If I get it down to 2,700 I'll consider myself lucky, even though it stopped making sense around the time I got it down to 2,890 words. Surely there is no process more soul-destroying than this kind of wholesale destruction.

In other words:

Believing I had supernatural powers, I slammed into a brick wall
I said hey, is this my problem? Is this my fault?
If that's the way it's going to be
I'm going to call the whole thing to a halt.

(no subject)

dear people who upload TV to teh internets,

I love you and you are the salt of the earth. I mean it. You allow hundreds, nay thousands of people to escape the corporate world (read: advertising) and, like, not get spoiled. But for the love of Mike, if you must rename your files, don't rename them to .zip or .rar. Downloaders are stupid, and we will spend much time futzing around in winRAR trying to get them extracted, and when we figure it out we just kind of feel dumb.

Plenty of love,
me.