procrastination

I like to think of myself as a character in a book, so in my head I narrate my life.
For example, the current chapter would read:

Samantha sat at a round table in the quaint coffee shop. Her mind appeared to be lost in daydream as she stared at the wall in front of her. She looked quite the picture of a quirky English major, and her hazel eyes (which could never decide if they were green or brown) seemed to sparkle as she set her cup down and began to write. She was writing poetry. Not necessarily because she was good at it; because the fiction unit in her Creative Writing I class was over so therefore they move on to another literary form. Too bad she was not a poet.

About fourty-five minutes later, she finished the poem. Although it was not perfect, it would satisfy the requirements. She then turned to the stack of research sitting in front of her. Picking up a pencil, her eyes scanned the pages, and every once in awhile she would underline a phrase or two. After reading two or three articles, though, she sighed and set down her pencil. “None of this research pertains to my paper topic,” she complained to her friend Kristen who was sitting across from her.

 

And that’s where it leaves off. Because that’s when I opened my MacBook and began to check the blog world. There’s something about being at Arsaga’s (the little coffee shop) that makes me want to write. I am wearing a rather cute purple beret-type hat (it’s not like a French painter’s, don’t worry) and I feel artsy. I don’t want to do this paper, though. Modern American Literature has not been one of my favorite classes. I really like my teacher and the way he conducts class, but I have not enjoyed very much of the material. It’s kind of weird stuff.

Nevertheless, I need to get back to this paper.
I love being an English major, but I don’t like writing about things I can’t get into.