Spring Break

11 weeks of 2015 come and gone, and suddenly it's march. 10 (sometimes painfully) long weeks of the school year has also gone by. Last week was my favorite yet.

The past 9 days have been filled with a blissful nothingness and absolutely nothing to do. I wrote quite a bit for DOOM (kind of), and I played countless hours of Destiny and Minecraft.

Last week went by too fast.

I'm ready for Spring Break again.

My professor warned me this would happen. She told my entire totally-paying-attention ENC1101 class that the student body would be cloaked in a choking malaise of laziness for the rest of the semester.


It's Monday and I already don't want to work anymore.

I keep looking at my schedule for the week and groaning. 

It's so bad. I am now the picture of lazy, procrastination-prone college student.

What's ironic is I have a paper on procrastination due in four days and I haven't even started.

Someone send help. I need motivation. Or maybe a cheer team?

How do you guys deal with procrastination?

NaNoWriMo Update #3

I can't believe it. NaNoWriMo is already half over. The hours spent in front of my laptop have flown by surprisingly fast.

I'm over half way done with my novel.

In seventeen freaking days.

Do you know how long it took me to get to the halfway point last time?

Six months.

And it took me six months to get a quarter of the words I've written for NaNo already.

It's strange, I keep flip flopping between feeling on top of the world and like I'm withering away. For example, Thursday of last week, I think, I flew through my words, getting them done rather quickly, but then today I've been doing a lot of staring at an empty screen.

I just can't get my brain to communicate with my fingers.

I'm having a really hard time writing.

Words Completed Today: 832 (but imma do more, i promise *cries*)
Words Completed Total: 29152
Favorite Snippet:

(Just a little explanation: this is not Pryor narrating, this is Livvy, his little sister who's been infected and is slowly being changed by the disease, both mentally and physically.)

We watch the wall. No. I watch the wall.
I thread my fingers through my hair, pulling until the stinging sensation in my scalp brings back a shred of sanity. The room is empty. White. You are alone, surrounded by nothing by unforgiving silence. You glanced towards the solid wall of shimmering exo-glass and realize that you are not you.
The girl's mind is cluttered by a thousand voices vying for control, for attention. I am not me. Something terrible is in my head, breaking her—breaking me—down piece by piece. I am loosing myself.
I look to the exo-glass, expecting to see Pryor's back pressed against it. She doesn't hear his voice. How long has it been since he came back?
A day? A year? A single minute?
I don't understand where he is. You crawl towards the wall, your fingernails, untrimmed and caked in dried blood-
Blood. She feels sick.
Why is there blood on my hands?
Then you remember. Your teeth sunk into her neck. Screaming. Hands scratching—hers and mine. Scarlet liquid flowing down your chin and onto the floor.
Tears wells up in my eyes, falling down her cheeks. You are scared. I'm so much worse than even a few days ago—or am I? I can't remember. You don't remember.
She curls in on herself and cries.
Where is Pryor?


There you have it, folks.

Until next time.