So, I'm still up. I'm writing an essay about freedom and self-realization. Isaiah Berlin believed that its an infringement on one's freedom to have another person make a decision for you in your best interest.
I'm pretty sure that I would be okay with that right now. If I were smart, and didn't like the night as much as I do, I would write this paper right now, instead of typing this, and therefore be able to sleep for a decent amount of time. Tomorrow, I would awaken, eat an apple instead of drinking coffee, and also take a shower.
Funny thing is, when I actually do start working on the essay, the word count just keeps climbing effortlessly. However, I'm so appalled by the writing and utter lack of scholarship that I retreat back into my procrastinating shell to avoid self-inflicted shame and admonishment.
But guess what? Whenever this essay is done, in an hour or five, once I've emailed it to myself, I'll probably never think about it again. And the stress leaves just as easily.
Yet another reason I will never be an academic. Also, I hate tweed.