Yes, I do realize that this is just another form of procrastination

It's that time again. Paper-writing time. 

Last time I wrote about Pinter, this time I'm writing about Keats.

This paper is due by 5PM tomorrow, and I'm still not entirely sure what I'm writing about. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I haven't been working on this. I've been writing and re-writing for days, but my topic keeps evolving, and while I'm nearly certain to continue in the current vein of writing about the worship of the body over the spirit in situations of romantic love as depicted in The Eve of St. Agnes and Isabella; or, The Pot of Basil, I'm getting to that dreaded point where I'm running out of things to say. This would be fine if I didn't have 600 words to go to meet the word count minimum. Boo. 

In the meantime, I have succeeded in cleaning my room and going to the gym. I have watched all of the super bowl commercials deemed "good" by the Huffington Post. (The barfing baby is not funny, it's gross. The dancing geckos, however, are genius.) I have even listened to the entire cast recording of the Miser. (I was complaining to Caroline that I had the songs stuck in my head and she gave me the link to the recording online...) I have done dishes, reorganized my shelf, and a number of equally non-productive things...