I don't know about you, but I end every semester of uni after a stressful marathon of completing assignments at the last minute telling myself sternly - 'I will be more organised next time'. And I mean it. I really do. There is no way I plan on allowing myself to go through that chaotic, anxiety ridden, binge eating situation ever again. Ever.
And then I do.
"I don't make jokes anymore," I sigh to my sister, over the phone. It is 9:00pm at night, and I've finally completed a marathon 48 hours of assessmenting. 4000 words, 2 videos and 1 website later and I'm pooped.
Yet despite all that, I want to start a blog.
There's just one problem. I can't think of a title. And because I can not for the life of me think of a title for my blog that will probably have no readers, I'll never start one.
But for some reason, now, at 9:00 pm when my brain is fried and my leftover dinner is still sitting on the table from 6:30, the only thing I want to do is sit down and start. Most likely because there is no way I am cleaning those greasy dishes and I have to do something to convince my husband I am simply "too busy" to even contemplate the idea.