Since it won't stop raining and I have been mostly out of it due to sickness or consumption of cold medicine (note to self: telling professor that you are babbling because you are "all gorked out on Dayquil" is probably a bad idea, but it may be worth it just to watch him take a big step back so he doesn't get what you've got), I spent the afternoon finishing up Season 3 of Oz, which may be the most addictive show ever. It's got it all: evil Nazis, boxing, true love, faith, redemption, Machiavellian scheming, and a Greek chorus. I could probably do without the Greek chorus. But I have at last exhausted my supply (Season 4 is not released on DVD until Feb. 1), so I must revert to my customary methods of procrastination: reading the latest stuff on the internets and blogging.
Not that I need to work that hard. You know how Zaphod Beeblebrox makes plans and then forces himself to forget about them, because otherwise they wouldn't work? I've been working myself like a dog researching and writing my 3L paper, because I remembered only two things about the deadline I turned in on the paperwork to the registrar: it was this semester, and it was in close proximity to some noteworthy day. I had this sense of creeping dread and decided that meant it was due on Valentine's Day: thus the torturous pace. But after having my productivity hampered by this cold, I thought it best to double check and see if I would need an extension.
The email came from the registrar. My self-imposed (and tongue in cheek) deadline? April 15th. Tax day.
*Heaves sigh of relief; kicks self for not keeping a copy of the paperwork and preventing this whole mess -- but if I had, would I have eleven pages written by now? Probably not. The value of masochism and studied ignorance manifests itself . . .*