raybear | I really really want you to see me, so don’t turn out the lights, girl.

Dear self,
You tried to trick me once -- making me feel all sad and depressed like I was going to have some anxiety attack for no good reason. But then I realized you were just trying to distract me from doing what I need to do and it was a complicated form of procrastination. Sure enough, the feeling in my chest pretty much dissipated and I managed to edit my essay (without your help, thankyouverymuch). Now you’re tried a sneak attack on me by distracting me to download remixes of Britney and Pink and Nelly Furtado and other fluffy goodness. Not fair. That’s harder to resist than wallowing in self-pity, which I’m a little less inclined to do these days.

But you ain’t fresh. I’m going to overcome you. First, by making an offering to the procrastination gods in the form of a phonecall to Damon and installing my printer (because that might, you know, help with printing my applications). But I’ll be back and I’ve got your number.

Pass the yogurt.