The last lap named Two Weeks.

is it the spell of the last block? the nua feeling, the conscious awareness you're in a deceptively dangerous ground yet not taking action to get out of it?

late submissions, reluctance in body to start cracking. i'm buying more time with my reputation at stake.

I shall just say what i want and need to spill, before I shall seriously begin on yet another thesis. (Having 3 consecutive months of writing papers have made me appreciate my decision to study photography and not literature.)
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I guess I'm someone who likes to see myself as one who likes to get involved,
to be part of the mysterious, dark possibility.
It's the thrill, the allure that so excites.

Like a good intoxicating wine you'll know you shouldn't be drinking with people you don't know,
because to get drunk is one thing,
to get drunk and be in position you never foresee, is another.
And yet you thirst of the sensuous glide that tingles when it trickles down,
only a quality of a good matured wine (and not a cheap beer);
its brand image, its cost value, its unique strong smell, the status it elevates you to, the possibility of danger,
can perhaps attract you, rule your feelings over your logic, to take the chance.

And yet boundaries undefined,
words unspoken because we hate expectations.
Premature cycle of actions,
and yet I'd like to think of myself as someone capable to handle this.
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Two weeks, and all my planning stops.
End of school, passing of the apprenticeship program.
Detachment, a solution to handling this?
What about finite Time?
I am strong, am I?