Mystery Dum-Dum.

It tasted like butter-rum the moment I put it in my mouth.  There isn't a lot to it.  My hasty and positively correct conclusion of the flavor proves only that I have enjoyed a great deal of said candy with Dum-Dum brand's specific take on butter-rum in the past.

Focus.

I may be getting to the point where I would trade my average general skills for one great talent. 

To ask for a talent is asking too much and unrealistic; I'd just like to be passionate about something.

Everything does intrigue me.  With only so much time to devote, I cannot educate myself or dedicate myself to any one thing long enough to become familiar with it.  

In turn, I feel ignorant.

It's time to make some sacrifices.  No, it is not time until I say it is, but the thought is something to chew on.  If passion does not come to me unprovoked, then I'll start narrowing down my interests until I can focus.

Right now, this Sunday midday is not the time to force it.

Mundane.

Tonight I am writing, typing. It can be almost stressful weighing out whether or not a potential post will be witty or insightful enough to go through with publishing. In that case, I will force myself to type, as mundane of subjects as I may be reviewing.

A friend of mine used the word "mundane" once, maybe twice in conversation. I now over-use it in my head. "Mundane" has become one of those words that I want to keep using, even out of context, but now that I am consciously aware of my desire, I stop myself. Now, each instance when my mind wants to tell my mouth to describe something as mundane, an automatic trigger goes off before I speak; I analyze the use of the word and most often choose to word the sentence another way, thinking it will lose its meaning when used repeatedly, especially when used incorrectly.

Rereading the last paragraph I want to address why I have the urge to use that word. What makes it so appealing that I want to bend my sentence structure around the word to make it fit grammatically and logically?

I don't know. I don't have the desire to figure it out. We'll label that as an observation and call it good.

Paper Writing.

At 2:30 a.m. I awoke from a nighttime nap to begin a paper, due in seven hours.

At 3:45 a.m. I deleted the two pages completed of the projected three page paper on the account of writing on the wrong topic.

At 4:20 a.m. I finished Paper Version II.

Pursuing a higher education has only furthered my confidence in turning a small chunk of information into a lengthy, shallowly scholarly paper.  It's unfair, the stuff I get away with.  It worries me.  There is an impending justice, or vengeance depending who's side you are on, waiting to rightfully punish me for all of the A's and 100%'s I've gotten away with.  

Which which I've gotten away.

I have a linguistics test to take this Thursday.  This could very well be the descent my last minute A grades have been leading up to:  a big finale, so-long scholarship.