i love my dog

That's it: I'm blaming my lack of good writing on not having a room of my own. Or money. Having a puppy around doesn't help either.

I was thinking about this today after doing the SAT practice test in preparation for tomorrow's class. It must've been the fifteenth time Virginia Woolf's been on it, and I just hate it when they choose these passages and ask these really terrible questions about what is being implied, what does this word mean in this context, why does the author phrase this-and-this like so, etc. These kids have no idea what they're reading. They just know they have to do it as quickly as they can so they can go back and check over the sentence completions. And I'm the one telling them that's what they should be doing.

Tomorrow's the only day I actually have to get up early (7:45 am). On normal days, I've been sticking to a strict schedule: waking up at 10:30am, lying in bed until 11:45 or until Denny starts making a fuss, having some lunch at noon, dawdling until 2:30, then driving to work which starts at 3:00. You'd think I would've gotten a lot of writing or studying done, but I haven't. I don't know what's been keeping me. I haven't even found the time to read, and as you can see, time isn't really the issue here. The yoga place keeps calling me because they're surely baffled at why I dropped $400 on a three-month membership, but have only shown up once over the last three weeks. The truth is that I've been so busy thinking, and I've been happy doing so. I've only sent out two things over the last few months, one of which was a poem which was recently returned to me, and another is still pending and will most likely have the same result.

I don't know why I'm writing this after having disappeared for so long. It's maybe because I was so goddamn prolific when I was writing in this thing, and even afterward, enough to help me compile a senior thesis to graduate. I don't think that much has changed other than my physical location and the fact that I have a dog to whom I am entirely devoted, disgustingly so. But I've already been writing for 5 minutes, and that's about all my attention span can take. Why is it that I always write about writing? I never ever think about writing until I'm actually doing it. And then it's all I can think about.