I woke up at quarter after six this
morning as usual, only to realize I had fallen asleep in my clothes and still wearing my contacts. Books were piled around my bed, a notebook on my lap that had somehow managed to stay there all night, and a
pencil was poking my
elbow. And none of my homework was done. I hate it when that happens.
I stayed home from school to get stuff worked on. Watched Cyrano de Bergerac en Français sans les sous-titres. It was a good enough movie, and I understood most of it (only because I've read the book -- the old-style French was nearly unintelligible to my American ears). The movie lasted over two hours; I kept wishing it would end, but then when the end came, I wished it had been longer. Don't ask. I should be writing a report summarizing the lecture on famous pioneer French women writers I attended yesterday, but I've had all the French I can take for one morning.
I've been having one of those "What the hell am I doing" kinda feelings for the past couple days. I sleep, eat, work, go to school, sleep some more. And I always look forward to the end of any current activity in order to start the next, from which I tire of quickly and wish to be done with that as well. I count down the last few minutes of class, only to go to another one. The last hour of work goes by so slowly, and all I want to do is be somewhere else. Where? At home doing my homework? Because that's where I'll be going. I can't wait for the weekend to arrive, and then I can't wait for it to be gone. Am I just impatient, or something else? Sigh.