Words, as in sources. Books stacked everywhere. Articles strewn everywhere. Music pounding in the background. Notes scattered across the floor. Crumpled drafts littered around.

And I’m just trying to write a paper.

I’ve learned three things tonight…

1. Apparently, I don’t do neat. Doesn’t happen. The binder that was supposed to keep me organized is… somewhere. Under that article? Maybe it’s in my backpack. Or under the bed. Or something.

2. I also need to be completely immersed in my source material. I can’t see, hear, smell, breathe anything else. I am the only person in the world, writing my paper on eugenics and the mentally disabled and the way the US still reflects the “heroes” we hold. I am surrounded by words, and my subconscious is finally, finally at peace.

3. I should NOT be writing about writing my paper. Not constructive.

So goodnight, or good morning, or good-something; I’m not really sure what day or hour or anything this is. I’m immersed. And I think I like it, this writing thing.


4 thoughts on “Words

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