Scriptwriting- a productive evil?

Emma Zunz is done. Finished. Finalised. Sent off. Many edits, spellchecks, and new characters later, I have handed in a completed 20 page play. (Single spaced, TNR, 12pt.) I actually now have two versions of the play- the stylistically correct, drama-student approved, 'audiences are idiots' version, and the over-punctuated, Borges fangirl, Professor-esque version. No prizes for guessing which one I handed in. At the end it seemed that I was walking a thin line between the demands of the drama students (bloodthirsty creatures, seriously) and the suggestions of my Borges-loving prof. I only broke down once, and that was when Borges original dialogue was struck down by the dramas for being 'too melodramatic.' Ah, well.
I don't honestly know what to do with myself now. On the one hand: woo, 2nd paper handed in and approved and out of my hair. On the other hand- Emma is my baby. The one I turn to when the Westboro Baptist Church and Southern Slave Laws are getting too much; the one I would never get bored of editing. Scriptwriting, it seems, is an addictive drug.
"So what did you do, JJ?" I hear you cry. (Nickname is laid entirely at Siobhan's doorstep, by the way. Bloody Criminal Minds.) Well, to be honest, I would hope that by now you'd know what I did. I started writing other things instead. You know, productive procrastination. Because a half-finished script with an implausible plot is going to get me so much further than a decent degree.
Right now I'm spending my leisure time on 'Stalker, a weird and wonderful concept which was developed during a late-night Facebook session in Doctor Who season. (Speaking of DW, consider this my Gaiman squeeing for the next week. OMG. OMG. OMG.) It's surprisingly fun to write, probably because it doesn't involve referencing homophobes or Nazis or ... anything. Exciting. Doing nothing for my remaining two papers, of course (I fricking hate papers. I somehow seem to think that were I back in Exeter I would concentrate better.), but there is seriously nothing more fun than writing fangirls. I think I may have found my calling. Now I simply need to get Abbi to inject 1) plot, and 2) humour.

Oh, and I short-circuited the power on our floor by trying to make coffee and cook dinner at the same time. Is this an American thing?