Anyone who ever had a heart wouldn't turn around and break it

I was sitting yesterday with my notebook taunting me with its blank pages. I was covered in ink as is usual when I attempt to write. I fidget. In the shower this morning I was still finding marks in unexpected places. But no ink on the paper. So I dawdled from the goals I set myself and I went online where Emma's third chapter was awaiting me. So I spent my evening listening to my dad's music and typing up my comments as I read. It helps wake my dozy mind up and focus on issues of an English sort. I didn't do much thinking in English Lit true but what do you expect when I was surrounded by girls who claimed Rochester didn't really love Jane. Just stamp all over my first love why don't you. But I couldn't be lazy in my critiquing. This year I could get away with half-assed arguments because I know my mythologies and I got away with waffling. There's something so satisfying in reading a piece of writing and figuring out why it works and why it doesn't.

I finished chapter three this morning with only a few brief digressions pondering both Ryan North's recent take on Hamlet and curly haired men. My notebook still sat in front of me with nothing but some doodles from weeks ago. I flicked through my diary instead, just in case any of the notes I'd taken in the middle of the night sparked anything and while I had written some two paragraphs and written out the vaguest outline of a plan I couldn't write a damn thing. Although I am covered in pen once more, making my morning shower almost pointless. So I thought well maybe I could try typing it up and skip the handwritten stage; something I really can't stand doing since my fingers become dyslexic the minute they're faced with a keyboard. But once in a while they behave, and tonight they did. So hurray I wrote something! Just in time for me to start studying for my exams. I always have the worst timing.

And if you know where my title comes from you know the song I grew up listening to since it's always the first thing my dad plays when he picks up his guitar. You can listen to my childhood.