Avoidance as Art?

Contrary to what I may have previously said these last two weeks have been amazing. I have been out more than I ever have, I’ve made new friends and been under the influence more times than I care to, or even can, remember. My room has never been tidier. The quality of my diet has shot through the roof, instead of the standard pizza, or perhaps even a pasta dish if I’m feeling especially ambitious I have been crafting all sorts of culinary delights with countless fresh vegetables and flavoured with all sorts of spice combinations. I have eaten more fresh fruit than ever before. I have started to make myself deserts. My washing is all up to date. I have been jogging up to Arthur’s seat every single day before breakfast. I have written and posted letters to far away friends. I have bought more books than I can afford. I have demolished half of Consider Phlebas by Iain M Banks. I have almost finished the ‘how to’ book I bought to teach myself my new and aforementioned dark art of choice. I have generally been more at peace with myself these past ten or so days than I have been for a very long while.

And yet I haven’t written a single word for any of my essays. Go figure.