I'm ready to die

AHHHHHHH.

Exhaustion.

I'm gonna get lazy and post something more boring than usual.

Ya dig?

My life consists of me being too lazy to write papers and thusly, spending my time doing nothing.

But really, that's not it.

I've just been in a dry spell, I swear... kinda.

The philosophy paper that I wrote about a couple of days ago WILL happen by 6:30 tomorrow morning-- I'll just wake up at 4.

AND, I'm just waiting for my muse to help me with a memoir piece.

I'm a patience patient.

Alright, now I'm gonna power-nap till 4.

Oh and this is an old blog post that I found that I had deleted, but emailed to myself also, HOW FUCKING EMO, haha:

Precursor.

I'm standing in this field and there's a monarch butterfly and and I stop to write and its gone and I love it and I miss it.
That happened after I left the mosque to go smoke a cigarette.
I hid in the trees, I wanted to be invisible.
Now, I sit on the broken pavement beside the field looking out into fall in suburbia. Birds are migrating. I'm wet because I waded through the overgrown dew covered grass. The birds are still flying in one direction-- probably south.
I have cold pizza and whiskey in my stomach. I have no control and I love it. So much.
I want to sit here forever. Study the cracks in the hardened tar. They look like tectonic plates. Ants crawl in and out, I miss Dorchester.
I'm not sure what I'm becoming, but I embrace it. I can hear the crickets chirping, but I thought that that only happened at night. My breath smells like minty smoke.
I feel like I'm waiting for something, but I don't know what. I wish I didn't have to wait-- I wish it would just come.
Maybe I am invisible?
There's stuff stuck to my jacket, they look like those amoeba things, but with cilia. I forget what they're called. They look alive.
What am I doing? I feel like a cliche about being infinitesimally small in this goddamned place.