Yeah, yeah

I've been bad. I haven't been writing lately. Actually, that's a lie. I have been writing. I just haven't been writing anything worth reading. When I do write, I'm writing penpal letters to girls from all over the world, who reply, it seems, when certain planets align.

Maybe I need better taste in penpals. I'll admit, though, that I'm only writing them with hopes that they'll eventually invite me to their place. I'd like to travel the world. It couldn't hurt to have a warm, comfortable bed somewhere. I'm not adverse to sleeping on the ground, which I have done, or in hostels, which I have done as well, but warm beds filled with warm bodies are delectable.

I also write philosophy papers. Normally, this is not a bad thing, as philosophy can be toyed with, but the professors I have are stodgy and react negatively to played papers. My papers must be serious, well-referenced, and purely analytical in order to get a passing grade. Hell with it, and hell with them.

I do this every few months. I tell myself that I'm going to write, so I start a new journal entry and in it, bitch that I don't write enough. My motivation to write quickly wanes. Nothing comes of it. Nothing gets written.

Yeah, I'm telling myself that this time, it's going to work. It had better damn well work, I think.