So you could write an art house film and I could make my debut

So you could write an art house film and I could make my debut

Right now my feet are asleep as usual and I can hear my sister listening to Fortunes Fall in her room and today I got a postcard from Taiwan and how is it that I talk to people I've never met more than I do the people that I see at school nearly every day?  I have this internal monologue that's constantly saying do-your-work-stop-messing-around-skins-is-so-great-wait-do-your-work and I have to read All the Pretty Horses and finish all my apps, like, yesterday but right now I want to finger paint all over the walls and run through the rain and never comb my hair again and move to Africa to teach English next year instead of going to college and I don't know what my mom was doing in 1977 but there must've been something wrong with her if she wasn't a Shaun Cassidy fan.

I'm really cold which I suppose is also usual and I'm writing run-on sentences which is usual as well but grammatically not a problem for me since that's how I think anyhow.  I've got this metaphor running through my head about wasted plans and battling dragons and it doesn't make any sense but I guess what it's telling me is that I ought to be writing, want to be writing instead of writing my app essays and reading Cormac McCarthy and why aren't I sleeping when I could be should be should be?