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- My successes after procrastinating more than I've ever procrastinated before do not help me at all, it only reinforces the terrible idiotic belief I have that I can do no wrong, no matter how hard I try to sabotage myself. Dear baby, someday, somebody, sometime, and, I suppose, I know that means not me and not then and not ever and okay. All I want to do is eat and get into bed but someone needs to clean out my refrigerator because it's stinking and someone needs to work on my other papers - and someone needs to write the paper that goes along with the presentation I just did. Someone needs to do all these things but all I want to do is eat and get into bed and be asleep. All I want to do is nothing, all I want is to be comfortable and have everything done for me. Dear baby, someday, somebody, sometime, for me too. The full moon shining on the ghost hills, the snow ghost of earth I walk on. The river is frozen and narrowing and icing over, dams build up, and still the water flows. Underneath. Underneath the ice. I should tidy up, I should take the night off - I'm too tired to do anything anyway. Instead of sitting here trying to convince myself that in five minutes I'll start to do something - I should just take the night off, eat, clean up, organize my house, take the garbage out tomorrow morning, after the night threat of marauding bears has passed. When you're heartpiney and broken - I wrote this today - when you're heartpiney and broken, at least you have something to write about. You always have that, there's always that, it's always there. When it fades away, what do you do. What is there to write anymore once you've written it all. What is there to do, anywhere. You become just another piece of equipment in this mechanized force of life. Trudge trudge trudge. Notice the river. When I was a freshman some guy jumped through the ice. Why? He was swept away, the water was cold, he was swept away under the ice never to be heard from again. I think of this. It was inexplicable, it was unexplainable. Why? He jumped through the ice, he dove, they said. Saturday morning, last class meeting of the semester, I arrive, sit on the couch, my book and notebook in my lap. My head, clearing the chemicals in it. Fog, chemically induced, and I like it. It is an excuse, it is a reason to feel foggy. I like it, I don't have to do anything. This is from one Tylenol PM, all this fog and haze and guiltless pleasure. Well, let us return to right now. The immediacy of dinner please, my stomach reminds me. My head, no chemicals, reminds me of the lack of sleep it experienced early this morning. Go to sleep, it says. Conflicting constraints, maybe. Everything is Optimality Theory. Right now, EAT is ranked higher than SLEEP. *EAT is ranked very low. Does it make any sense for a theory to allow conflicting constraints such as EAT and *EAT? As anyone who's ever had a little eating problem knows, *EAT is definitely a very real constraint. And as anyone who's ever been alive knows, EAT is also a very real constraint. Tell me to shut up. I'm going to go satisfy this EAT constraint right now. Then, I'll think about SLEEP. *STINK, that's one. My refrigerator is violating it right now. My armpits probably are too. That, above, all of it, would be what has been going through my mind over the last half hour.
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