I disgust myself sometimes. My own immaturity stares me in the face, and all I can do is thumb my nose at it. A task sits in front of me-- not a difficult task, just one that requires time and concentration. There are six million things that suddenly seem more important and certainly more alluring than The Task. I find myself actively searching for distraction and jumping at every chance to drown out that voice who persistently reminds me of what I should be doing. The guilt-cloud above me is even worthy of attention-- hence, this ode to distraction.