Lately, I get these strange urges to work at very inappropriate times. When I feel like I “should” be working, I just can’t get it going. When it’s totally illogical for me to get crackalackin’ (one of my favorite words, ever), I want to. I sometimes wish I could sleep all day and work all night, when things are quiet and the world outside is at (relative) peace. Instead, I get to work while someone down the street sets off the remnants of his 4th of July fireworks, while the kids next door scream intermittently, and the heat makes me cranky and lazy. Sadly, I have this thing called a “day job” that really cramps my style and makes this arrangement an impossibility.

After my trip to Chi-Town last week, it was hard to get moving again. If anything, it should have served as a proverbial carrot, reminding me of what I’m working for in the short term (finish my Ph.D. and get the hellz out of here!). But, I was tired from the drive, distracted by the mundane, blah blah blah…I’ve gotten some good work done this week and weekend, so I won’t beat myself up too much. I still have 43 days, and I’ve been working (for the most part) steadily. No frantic, eleventh hour efforts for me this time!

Lately, I’ve been addicted to the song “Wichita Lineman” (the Meters cover of it). There’s something about it that I find so soothing, so beautiful, and yet so haunting and hollow. If you’ve never heard it before, I demand that you find a copy of anyone singing it (oh, except for REM…their version sucks) and listen to it. You can thank me later.

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