As an undergraduate sometimes when I needed to get some work done I used to pack up my stuff and head off to the library. Partly because of the air-conditioning, but mostly because the library is devoid of any distractions. No laptop, no television, no things to fiddle around with endlessly procrastinating. My roommate always knew when I had a big paper because that's the only time when she'd find me cleaning my half of the room. During graduate school I was much more on task. Only because there was no time to procrastinate trying to balance out work, classes, and day to day living. Seems like a whole other life now. It's not that I no longer have things that need to be done, like my mother says there is always something to do, but rather my momentum is gone.

I never really understood how some writers could force themselves to write for a set amount of time at a set time of day everyday. It seems unnatural to force creativity on a scheduled basis (even when the results are brillant), but at the same time waiting for inspiration won't take you anywhere.

Does it mean you're an adult when in a supermarket the impulse to grab one end of the roll of plastic bags and run just to see how far you can go no longer strikes you?