Les Yeux Paresseux

Four o'clock in the morning and I'm typing away in the library. What's more painful then writing in french? Easy, rewriting what you've already written. It's hard enough to generate logical arguments and smooth progressions in language you barely understand. I mean if I'm looking up every other word to my sentences, surely they must be confusing and incomplete. How am I to communicate my ideas in French when I can barely convey them in English? Ah, that is but the beauty to college, my futility at understanding that which is above me. The auto correct spell check doesn't help my french writing either. The second I type "personnages" it strangely turns into "personajes," perhaps Spanish majors could resolve that issue for me or else some other language. Still, this french paper remains unfinished, and my eyes are slowly closing to darkness. Eight hours until this paper is due, and then I'm home free. If motivation could be served in a cup, I'd glug it down like a forty year wanderer in the desert drinking water for the first time. I'm tired. But, there are still miles to go before I sleep...miles to go before I sleep.