He'll get his lawyer to come up from the city and arrest you mister

I think I'm done. It really should be longer but I have nothing left to say. I just want to go to bed. Very strange, this essay has elicited almost no stress response in me at all (unlike the Report of Doom). I can't seem to bring myself to care that it's too short or that I went to trivia last night instead of working on it. Meh.

I'm stuck choosing between Smash attacking the pages as they come out of the printer, or attacking my keyboard as I type and eating my fingers in the process. Hard choice.

And it turns out it was PMS, a week early. No wonder I've been feeling like shit.

My desk is completely covered in print-outs of journal articles that have been attacked with red Bic or orange highlighter. The cats have been taking turns making nests out of them.

'Humph', said the camel

Too early. Cooooooold. Do not want.

So once I had finished up my essay, turned off all the lights, locked the doors etc it was about 2am. Went to bed and was just getting comfy when I had an epiphany about my essay title and I couldn't find a pen so I had to get up to write it down. Snuggled back into my warm and cosy bed... only to be struck by an awesome plot bunny *whimpers* I haven't had a decent plot bunny, or any real sort of urge to write at all in AGES. And I almost got up and started writing, but I wanted as much of that 4h sleep as I could scrape together... waahhhh, woe is me. Figers crossed it's still hanging around and maybe I can get it down this afternoon.