Vent (verb)

I would just like you all to know that the purpose in my writing presently is to chastise myself sorely for my un-productivity today. I have sat in the same very hard chair in the library for close to 6 hours today, staring at my computer wondering how on earth to execute a paper and am appalled at both my lack of progress and my ability to squander away time as though it were nothing but blades of grass that nobody ever cared to walk on, look at, pick or do anything with.

And while I realize that that last sentence makes no comprehensible sense, I must go on: why, oh why, am I here, doing this, if my head is not in the game? I would very much like to have the same resources that rich time wasters have: if such were the case, I would not worry that I did not have the money to do what I wanted, when I wanted. Isn't it disgusting that you need MONEY to do STUFF these days? When did life get so complicated? I have half a mind to quit school and sit at a desk and write until I make my million in something as brainless as the Twilight series.

But then, we all know that that would be impossible because at the rate I'm going it would take me three hundred years to write even a chapter of ANYTHING because I seem to have lost my brain.

I would also like to point out to the world that one good thing happened today: I was asked to read a part of a paper I had written in class.

In retrospect, I will write to you all this time next week and say "wow. crazy week. it's over. life's good."

So really... what's my point?