It's 11:30 PM and i still have 21 more pages to rewrite for a book chapter deadline I was supposed to finish and submit early this morning. But it's night and noooooooooo i'm faaaaar from done. Whoever said writing was easy will have to face me at my near incredible Hulk state and justify. It kills. But I enjoy the recurrence of death more than the introduction of life, so I endure every single waking moment having to anticipate deadlines and summon the so-called muses. The life I chose to live is far from my parents' dream of having a kid in a power suit. The only power I have is what I weild when I have a pen in hand and paper on the desk. My back aches terribly, but this is something I have to do. Oh well, i have to get back to work. Reality bites.