I never know what's going to hold my interest. I pick up projects with the full intention of following through and my utmost emotional comittment only to drop them a few days later when the novelty wears off. Other things that I'm doing only as a distraction grow to hold all of my attention and effort. There's no rhyme or reason to it. I never know how dedicated I will be to something until I try to commit myself to it. Such a random strength of will doesn't reflect well on myself.

Last night, my shifty motivation kicked in unexpectedly. A few days ago, a girl whom I'm rather infatuated with found out that we're both big fans of the band Garbage. We talked for a little bit, and it was eventually revealed that she hadn't heard any of their B-sides. Overjoyed at the prospect of being able to do something for her, I insisted on burning a disk of them for her. After some polite argument over the necessity of that action, she hesitantly agreed.

Homework prevented me from spending any time on her CD until last night. I scavenged through all of my b-sides and remixes, finding the highest quality songs. I arranged and rearranged the list, adding and deleting with grim efficiency. Each mood was set in its proper place, a perfect balance. I tested the segues between songs to make sure there was no disjointedness. After about an hour of clicking and listening, I finally had a satisfactory mix. All that was left was to burn the disk.

That's when my motivation craftily began to assert itself. As I watched the little colored bar on my burning software inch towards one hundred percent, I started making little concessions to myself:

Gah, I don't want to give her the disk with that stupid CompUSA logo on it. I might as well make a cover for the disk. I've got plenty of time to do the rest of my homework.

A few more minutes pass by...

Well, since I'm making a cover for the disk, I might as well make an insert for the jewel case. It's not like the graphics will take that long to make.


You know, she might like to have the lyrics to these songs, I'll whip up a couple of pages for the insert. A quick copy-and-paste job, nothing more.


I ended up working from 5:00 PM until 2:00 AM, hunting across the 'net for the perfect picture of Shirley Manson and the boys, making full use of my paltry Photoshop skills, stylizing the text, and aligning everything until it was absolutely perfect. Several dozen test prints and two cans of Mountain Dew later, I'd finished.

At some point during the night I realized that I'd gotten a cold. By morning my nose felt like it was melting and my eyes were little hellish balls of itch. That's what happens when you don't take Sudafed. Figuring that sleep wasn't really worth it, I finished the rest of my homework, got dressed, and drove to school with the CD firmly clutched in my hand the whole way.

It took me 'till about third period to figure out that I looked like a drowned rat suffering from crack withdrawal. I had completely forgotten to attend to such basic hygine needs as taking a shower, brushing my teeth, combing my hair, or cleaning my contacts. The fact that I was leaking mucus didn't help. Between periods I splashed cold water on my face and unsuccessfully tried to divulge myself of snot (there seemed to be an infinite supply).

This definately wasn't the way I wanted to present myself to someone I was interested in. But, I had promised her that I'd have the CD by today. A lose-lose situation, basically. The final ten minutes of period four, I decided that the best course would be to just give it to her and promptly get away. I could hide for the rest of the day, and then talk with her about the CD tomorrow when I would be less repulsive.

At lunch, she was sitting at the usual table with her friends. After pacing back and forth for a few minutes, I finally gathered the courage to just walk up and hand her the disc. She turned and eyed me rather startedly, tossing back a few bangs of her abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous hair. I stammered a couple of unintelligible words and then ran off as quickly as I could while still pretending to walk. The last I saw, she was staring after me with a rather perplexed expression on her face.

A little later during the day, an emissary approached me in the de-militarized zone (aka. the library) and informed that my crush adored the CD, thought I had gone through far too much work, and wanted to do something in return for me. She's always been gracious like that. I told the messenger such a repayment was entirely unnecessary, and that it hadn't been any trouble at all. After sleepwalking through the last few periods, I slinked out of school, drove back home, and promptly collapsed into bed.

God, I'm such a fucking dweeb.