in which the author finds her attention drifting

Theoretically, there shouldn't be any reason for my inability to concentrate. I'm holed up in my room with tea and biscuits and music. Nothing's missing from my usual studying needs. And yet there's something writhing and wriggling in my head that won't let me sit still and focus - something that pokes and prods and won't leave. I've never had a great attention span, but this is ridiculous. Even now, I'm listlessly writing about it because I can't concentrate on my notes. Ugh.