After maybe the initial 1/8 of the semester sneaks past, my ambition and optimism sneak away into the popcorn of my bedroom ceiling. It never fails. (I don't either, which I always half-way expect slash think if I did I would go catatonic if ever my seeming laziness amounted to the dreaded 6th letter of the alphabet.)
So lately, I've been overwhelmingly dragged/sucked into that familiar downward spiral which seems to culminate in tears, self-loathing, yelling, and hair loss/other severe stress-related afflictions.
Deja Vu, right?
But to place myself as the object of the sentence above ("So lately..."), implies that I am a victim in a situation or have no way of impacting my lowly circumstances. This is simply farce. Although I can visualize myself as the innocent college student being plagued by that awfully mean procrastination (picture that word embodied in a silent movie, Charlie Chaplan-esque bad-guy-who-ties-the-pretty-woman-to-the-railroad-tracks-and-giggles-silently-while-frantically dramatic-piano-trills-are-heard) which can materialize in any number of enjoyable distractions (kind of like Satan?), it is ESSENTIAL that I remember I am not an object here (of a sentence). I'm the SUBJECT; I'M THE VERB. Translation: it's all on me, baby.
So after a particularly horrible week, today I have started over. I will consciously make positive decisions. I will blog every day, if even just tossing a new-found, appreciated word. I'm in the process of cleaning my room at 4:16 in the morning because it's at the top of my "things I've been not doing for eons" to-do list.
To be promptly followed by emptying the dishwasher, scrubbing the mascara off of my bathroom mirror, and writing a letter to my grandma.
Synecdoche (sin-eck-duh-key) n.
when one uses a part to represent the whole (literary term)
Example: mouths to feed, or a set of wheels
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