Butterflies....

Usually, these are a good thing. In this context though, (namely, the day before meeting my supervisor to discuss my supreme lack of progress) they are not.
I've read numerous articles, books, poems and critical clap-trap over the past two weeks and enjoyed the vast majority. However, actually putting anything with an element of coherence down proves more and more difficult the more I read. Gadzooks. I have fallen into the classic 'research' bind.

Previously I was worried that Wide and I would just tumble along in a state of apathetic existence, the presence of the other allowing for corners to be cut. At least for him, now, with his wonderful success (hooray!) that's not really problematic. Whereas for me, I'm running out of excuses not to be doing things. It's an excellent opportunity I have in front of me: the chance to make something incisive and enlightening about literature- but with so much information, I hardly know where to start. It's a veritable Gordian knot, and I have yet to find which end to pull to unravel the whole thing.

In the meantime, I'm content to immerse myself in the sugary and preservative syrup of relationships and poetry... Almost becoming the 'tethered cow' that I'm writing about.
Snap out of it, girl....

Which is pretty much what everyone- (Wide, M&D, Snapper and Studded, Lard and Hopeful) have been saying. If I worked as much as I worry about working, I'd be fine... gah.
So!
Now, I think I'll go and do just that.