Alice Munro, you whore!

I didn't realize how long it had been since I posted... until I had a paper to write.

In the past few days, I have dug myself into an academic euphoria; I've steeped myself in Cartesian linguistic theory while discovering the string quartets of Heitor Villa Lobos, sifted through the chalk diagrams and explanations of neuronal activity, and, rolled in cigarette smoke (not my own) while discussing short fiction. I have become overexcited about all of the things I do not know; I cannot wait to read Hauser's The Evolution of Communication, or Anderson's Doctor Dolittle's Delusion, or more papers about the neurophysiology of language acquisition... and yet, I think about writing the essay due tomorrow about Alice Munro's "A Wilderness Station" and I don't know what to do.

I am terrified of writing this essay. I have written close reading essays at least four times in my life that I can remember, and some of those incidences were under timed conditions. I am terrified and psyched out and do not know how to begin. I would rather read now than write, rather drill French grammar, or tag and shelve library books, I would rather do anything than exercise the creative aspect of my language ability.

BLaaslkdhENVXNKCJHfda!

I just went on facebook to confirm a friend, checked all of my emails (at least once), checked the social analysis 34 discussion board, and typed in all of the tracks of the CD I am burning.

NBLADfjskhACI#!