There is a certain feeling that erupts in my stomach when I push it off. The deadline is passed but I can’t bring myself to do the work. I italicdon’titalic want to do. So I italicdon’titalic. I’m ashamed, the shame sits on my shoulders, making me slump forward, heavy with it. It hangs on my eyelids, they droop and sag wanting to close and block it all out. It’s heavy in my lap when I sit down, it’s like a twenty pound backpack when I stand up. It sits on the corners of my lips dragging my mouth into a frown. But yet I can’t get rid of it. I hate the way it makes me feel, but I keep getting in my own way.