Blast it! I slept with a shoe on. It's irritating to find the remnants of last night when you wake up in the wee hours of the morning. Dawn. Pre-dawn even. In the light of my fluorescent desk lamp, I struggle to get into warmer clothes, sit at my desk lamp, flip open the hated Economics book, and start to read.
Read Read Read.
I have an Econ 301 test this Thursday, and my professor practically guaranteed the class an average of 50.
Doomed Doomed Doomed.
False. I refuse to fall into the hopeless mentality. Who cares if everyone else gets a 50? I'm going to be the woman with the 75 (har har har. I'm even scared to type 100. Can a girl hope too much?). Trusting in the ridiculous curve, I know that a 75 would boost me into 150% range.
Flip Flip Flip.
If I had any hair left, I would be flipping it instead of these pages. If I had any fingernails left, they'd be gone. Unlike the stereotypical death of fingernails via chewing, my preferred method is to cut them off. Begone little buggers. Reminiscent of bygone days of piano and fingernail-cutting before lessons, my fingernails are round, pearly stubs.
Shoot, it's 7:53am. I'm still on Diminishing MRTS. Ah wells... time for breakfast.