I am not in a good place.

It's ten in the morning and my paper looms just as ominous as it did last night, as it has for the past month of its gestation period, except I feel like all the prenatal care its gotten just hasn't been enough and I've been missing some key vitamin in its developmental regiment because I am still utterly, completely, and entirely without a locus of focus.

I never thought I'd actually be ungrateful that my computer booted. I've been having troubles though, and after an hour of freaking out because it wouldn't even run in Safe mode and fifteen minutes on hold with tech support, I figured out myself that, once again, the battery was to blame, and everything runs fine when I replace it with a disc drive. Crises are not what I needed lumped onto my already refried brain, though.

And the fact that there are at least three other major things I'd rather be doing right now doesn't help either. Don't get me wrong, I love that I could make my final literature paper about pop culture (and hopefully the boys in specific) but there's Secret Santa fic clamoring for what feels like just a tiny bit more coherence for it to work, about four memes to catch up on including that intensely fascinating 100 Facts thing, a recs page/website update, and all while I'd rather be at Wal-Mart getting my three rolls of twenty-four pictures developed, but this stupid, lousy, no-good, very bad, stagnant, sorry excuse for an, I daresay, experienced writer, is just making me bleed right now.

However, I have a guardian angel, many happy memories, Christmas lights and weather still kickin' enough for my coat, even with a tanktop underneath. And besides, things have a way of working out. We'll see. Six hours is still a considerable amount of time to have an epiphany, right?

*sulks, mutters* That Buddha guy just did it all wrong.