Winter of Discontent.

I am lamenting my own hedonism. I caved and ordered myself a pizza as a band-aid for my terminal ennui. Somehow this feeble attempt to cheer myself up just makes me feel more defeated.

My philosophy exam is in 16 hours and I've hardly cracked open a book; I attribute this gross neglect of my own academic welfare to a number of things: the weather, the fact that a lot of my friends and floormates are probably home and sitting by their Christmas trees already, a deep-rooted dislike of London Ontario, the harrowing decision of "to order a pizza or not to order a pizza," my discarded dreams of law school, my whacked-out sleep schedule, &c.

I want to be ordering Chinese with Steph or Dawson. Or singing songs in the car with J & K. Or breaking into Fort George with the boys. Or anything.
I want real life to go away.
I want to go home.

... I doubt even pizza can save me now.

(Edit: Turns out that, in spite of my pseudo-rebellious school-related apathy, I finished third from the top on my Anthro final. Pizza is now justified as a celebratory feast. I feel much better.)