Nothing makes sense...

i'm sick of writing papers about stuff i don't know about. i'm tired of scrabbling, just so that i can PRETEND i have stuff to write about. GAWD, sometimes i love complaining much too much. So, now I've got a fire under my ass b/c of all the work that needs to be done, yet i'm feeling strangely unmotivated. Except...when it comes to wine. then i do anything and everything in my power to get that bottle open, even if it includes pushing the cork through and having wine explode all over my face. small price to pay, don't you think?