Learning to fly

Just wandering along, pondering the mess I've got myself into again with essays, the complete denial and poor time-management that has lead me into the worst state in years. I've completely run out of time, really I've regressed since the last lot, failing to capitalise on the good bits, and leaving myself a whole lot less time. This time, two essays which I have not started, have not even done the most basic bit of reading for, cannot simply cannot be finished in time.

Why, I was thinking, is it that I seem to be having to learn my lessons all over again, why is it that I ignore the things I know that work, and make it all the harder the next time... why even when I know I'm in a pickle, am I still wasting time and energy on fruitless frittering (of which blip is one, at this point in time)?

Despair, diverted, when a baby bird shot out from under my feet, across the road, and then crash, bang, wallop, straight into a stone wall. Sort of like that, I think, I am.

Dazed, a ball of feathered fledgling fluff shivered at the base of the wall, before shooting off again in a series of uncontrolled crazy lurching lunges into the air, each culminating in collision with whatever chanced to be in its path.

Finally quite by accident, its flight path coincided with the branch of a sycamore, where, a twig having fortuitously caught its claws, it clung on as though it had been the intention all along, clearly reluctant or perhaps unable, to let go.

This baby bird will learn in time to soar, but will I?