This term has ultimately taken its toll on me. I could feel myself crumbling under the immense weight of everything after slaving myself for the past 5 days; each passing day is a struggle. A struggle against stress, a struggle against temptation. I could just do no more of this mess, writing not a single word, thinking not a single thought. Hour after hour, I glanced forlornly at my clock. I saw the hour hand move with an uninterrupted regularity which characterised the inevitable passing of time. I couldn't stop it; and after a while, I couldn't hurry it. Yet the more i struggle, the faster and deeper i sink and plunge into a sea of never-ending work. I have never experienced such conflicting yet complementary feelings of despair and desperation. Behold. the next 2 weeks of utter sleep-deprivation. I'm in one of the rare occasions where the thought of believing in the mysterious powers of the divine liberates me (slightly).

I was lying on my bed from midnight in full anticipation of my first paper(which ended in tragedy)with my eyes closed, i desperately tried to get rest. but after tossing and turning with a pounding heart, my mind was a caged animal set free. I thought of the past, I thought of the future. I thought of the worst moments, I thought of good memories. I faced my worst fears and my deepest phobia and I felt an urge to pen down my thoughts, but i need to force myself to get proper rest. Interesting how peculiar we can get at absolutely critical (and wrong) timings.

Incoherence is celebrating its victory over me. I'm just in a schizophrenia talk to myself. Dont bother.