Staying up late seems like the best idea at the moment

Why is it that every time I promise myself to go to bed early for a change, I end up doing stuff that could basically wait till tomorrow? It's like a sort of amnesia. In the morning, I would wanna kick myself for staying up late, watcing something or just hanging on the internet, and consequently sleep only a few hours. Which, by means of my summer biorythm is not even close to being enough. So what is a girl to do?
Probably, I should stop typing right now, throw myself in and put of the shower, straight to bed. But we probably all know that ain't happening :)

So I could use this very first post to reveal a lil' something about myself.. I am a (for now) a teen girl/woman (depends on the situation and its benefits ^^) who has a lot on her mind, and tries to put out there in many forms (poems, stories, short thoughts). So why not try this amazing thing called blogging? To see if it gets to me ...
I study languages and will probably complain about it on many occasions as I am not the college type of girl. At least not this partiuclar college. Not yet.

As most of "the youngsters" I can't go a day without music, laughter, and FOOD. I also love watching movies and series, reading (mostly in summer, as during the school year I somehow don't find the time and the will to read much).

And, as usual, I'm on the phone at the moment, trying to be multi-functional as women are supposed to be. (I'm not sure, though, that it also applies to me..)

Anyways, I shall absent myself from this post, and get back to you as soon as possible (hopefully). ;)

Best wishes and goodnight*

P.S. I will leave you with a bit of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage by Lord Byron...It's titled SOLITUDE.

To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene,
Where things that own not man's dominion dwell,
And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been;
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen,
With the wild flock that never needs a fold;
Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean:
This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold
Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unrolled.

But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men,
To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess,
And roam along, the world's tired denizen,
With none who bless us, none whom we can bless;
Minions of splendour shrinking from distress!
None that, with kindred consciousness endued,
If we were not, would seem to smile the less
Of all that flattered, followed, sought, and sued:
This is to be alone; this, this is solitude!