I finished my paper for Wednesday on Monday. I finished my paper for today last Thursday. I'm caught up in all my reading and have been studying economics for a half an hour a day for a week. Sudden burst of responsibility?
Any Given Second is given for just a second, and so I read over my cereal (I mean, literally, although I am in the habit of reading cereal boxes over and over), debate Roland Barthes between applications of mascara, and check my planner eight, nine, ten times a day. I have no evenings. I have little in the way of late afternoons. Until Sunday night I'm not guaranteed much in the way of nights, either. I've got a lot to do: it's a show week.
And yet, some how...
How is it that when I'm doing more, I do more? I've been working on my portfolio, my thesis, keeping my room clean. I checked out the Fall Styles Lucky (thank you eg) and started reading one of those masterpieces of literature that has hijacked me in my ignorance and helped my VT companion with her Russian, sent a package to a mission friend of mine, started translating those Silver Age poets, work on my novel, workout every day. And this morning, I ironed the skirt I'm wearing. Over-achieving festival?
Come to the show this weekend. I'm putting a lot of work into it.