...by Charles Dickens is lying dejectedly on top my my European History teacher's old copy of Gone with the Wind. Behind them stand some of my school folders (I only use binders for Computer science and English this year) and copies of Watchmen and V for Vendetta. I received Life is Elsewhere by Milan Kundera just today, and I am currently on page 4.
My iPod has long finished charging and still lies next attached to its cord. Next to it is a pile of red: USC and Swarthmore brochures and folders from respective visits. My physics textbook is equally silent.
Articles on gender issues with Animal Farm and a book on psychology clinical tales lies on my pillow, a reminder to myself of reading obligations that I likely will not fulfill ere I slumber. Tomorrow's computer science test is nagging my conscious.
My bed is strewn with some fifty pages of calculus worksheets - preparation for the AP.
There's more. A lot more. Such is my current state of mind.
I feel like I'm approaching a critical mass, but I must not let myself fall that far, for the consequences can be dire. It's seriously bad timing to indulge in the momentous return of my guilty music pleasures.
Time is flying past and I don't know what's been happening. All I know is tomorrow's deadline. I need to sleep more.
Ok time to study.
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