I guess I was under the misguided assumption that procrastination ends outside of the academic realm. I thought I would never have to pull a single additional all-nighter for the rest of my days, save the possibility of a 13 hour baby delivery or maybe trying to move out of an apartment before the 5 a.m. lease expiration. Sure, I expect to stay awake all night for various reasons, but they tend to be enjoyable, music-filled, wine-flowing, kind of evenings with bonfires and sunrises. I could not have prepared myself for this sudden return to the stranger nocturnal side of college: tenth cup of coffee in hand (I've done the legwork on that coffee-inducing-hallucination theory), staring wild-eyed in the blue glow of an overheated computer monitor, the pulsing cursor on the word document nothing short of Chinese water torture.
FREE LANCE GIGS ARE A CROCK. Or, I should say, GHOSTWRITING gigs are a crock. Of poo poo.
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